Galactic War: Book 6: Syzygy
by ELF Commando
Summary: Syzygy: An occultation or eclipse; one body shadowing another. Why does Adriaan eclipse her connections to Ra'hal & Jacen Palgwebb? Little do Adriaan's Padawans know that their efforts to clear the syzygy could bring about a disastrous result: death.
1. Prologue

**_Su'cuy! _First off, I apologize for the long wait. For those who don't know me personally, I have started taking college courses this year in addition to a regular load of high school work. So as you might guess, this is a much busier year than last year. I can't make any promises, but I will try to keep on top of the book series. **

**On the title: Syzygy is a real word (gasp). It's true. It can be compared to an eclipse. a Syzygy is an astronomical term meaning the conjunction or opposition, especially of the moon with the sun. It can also mean a pair of connected or corresponding things. I picked the title "Syzygy" instead of "Eclipse" for a rather obvious reason..."Syzygy" is much more unique. "Eclipse" has no doubt been the title of hundreds of books. The point of the title is to make the book stand out, and I think "Syzygy" works to this effect quite nicely. **

**What's the syzygy in book 6? As you might have noticed, the genre of book 6 is somewhat different than the previous books in _Galactic War. _Instead of being a Sci-Fi/Adventure, it is an Angst/Tragedy. Romantic themes are present in the story but not predominantly, sickeningly so - and they are of a tragic, not saccharine - nature. As you might expect from the genre label, this book is anticipated to be considerably darker than the previous stories. For those who are concerned that the change in genre label might suggest that there will be a decline in action, I assure you that there is PLENTY of action and adventure to be found. I guess this would be synonymous with George Lucas' work on the _Star Wars _movies, as the sixth film created (Episode III) is undoubtedly the darkest in the entire saga. The second definition of Syzygy suggests loosely that it could mean pieces to a puzzle being connected; the primary definition suggests that there is an element _overshadowing, _or eclipsing, a theme not yet revealed. Will this mystery theme be revealed in book 6? I stated earlier I was making no promises. But I take that back. I'll make one now.**

**Yes.**

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✶ The Chosen Race HQ, Hohepäe, 24 BBY ✶

"We place the charges on the power generator, located here," Jacen says, highlighting a large, circular room on the holomap of the fortress. "Set the dets to blow off after about, say, a ninety second countdown. We should be out of the blast radius by then."

"But the explosion will cause a chain reaction when it blows up the weapons depot, which is located within the blast radius," I point out. "The entire building will collapse on top of us within a couple minutes after the first explosion, and this complex is enormous – it'd take us about ten minutes minimum to peel out of here."

"Well," he stands and shrugs on his pack, flashing me his habitual smirk that always makes me want to bash his face in, "we'll just have to run like hell then, won't we?"

We creep through the hall till we come to a ventilation shaft. Jacen smashes it in with a Taikaido chop – he never uses his lightsaber unless he deems it necessary – and slithers into the vent. I squeeze in after him, and we crawl through the shaft for several hundred meters, moving as quietly as possible as we are acutely aware of the _clunk clunk clunk _of enemy soldiers dashing through the hallways underneath us. Finally, we reach the correct grate and, after another skillful chop, my Master drops into the control room. I roll to the floor after him, dodging the blast bolts from security turrets as they gyrate wildly, attempting to get a fix on us. A couple quick lightsaber swipes, and the machines are put out of their misery. My adrenaline hasn't even kicked in yet – the whole objective is just too easy. We place the dets, ditch the shaft and make a run for it in the main hall.

We nearly slam into a squad of troops making their way to the turbolifts. "Halt!" the sergeant shouts. Jacen nods and the commanding officer in addition to four of his men die instantly. Jacen breaks the neck of another, decapitates two in one stroke, and electrocutes the remainder with a flash of Force lightning. We do all of this without allowing our feet to stop in their retreat. _This is too easy…_

A janitor droid makes the mistake of obstructing Jacen's path. I run past a heap of charred metal that not even Jawas would care to scavenge. We come up on two squads now – we cut our way through as if we are farmers and they are weeds. _Too easy, it's _way _too easy…_

BLAM!

And now it's not all cream and sugar. It never is when my Master's around. Ninety seconds isn't enough time for even two extremely fit Jedi like us to blast out of such a gigantic complex, but there's no arguing with a redneck Jedi. Ninety seconds and we're halfway out, and I'm on the floor rolling to get the fire off my back. I don't know if he's still alive. Wait, that's definitely him, calling me the spawn of a sith harlot as he screams at me to get up and get moving. Knowing that disobedience is met with dire consequences, I am of course compelled to obey.

Except my leg is gone and I can't move.

"UP!" he shouts. _UP! _My brain commands my body, but my right leg isn't bending the correct way; I have two knees on one leg, how interesting…

"Kid, don't make me leave you on your own –––" he says, and now I start to cry, mostly because I don't want him to go and leave me to die here in this hellhole, but also because I'm starting to feel knife stabs in my sides.

"I'm trying! I'm TRYING!" I scream, nearly bursting my liver as I struggle up on one leg.

He's cussing now, saying all the swear words in all languages I know, and a few unfamiliar ones thrown into the mix as well. "By the Twenty Lost Jedi, girl, why the kriff don't you get going?" he shrieks. "Just go! It's not your time! Trust me, I'll be fine!"

"What are – JACEN!" I'm falling to the floor, the world around us collapsing, spinning wildly, being sucked down into a black hole, where there's nothing, nothing…except pain, the pain quite like I imagined the sort of agony one would have in childbirth. The only difference is, there's some sort of gain to be made in _that _kind of pain: the joy of your own child. But this, all this type of pain spawns is death…

"Adriaan." The voice is calm now; no more cussing. Very gentle and quiet now, the tone he uses when he's about to command me to do something very hard, something I'm not going to like, something I'm going to spend the next six hours arguing against. "As much as I would love to see the day Yoda cuts off your Padawan braid and initiates you as a Jedi Knight, everyone needs to leave the party at some time or another. As for me, I never did fancy dying off quietly; no, going out in a blaze of glory, taking down an entire building with me, that's the way I'd love to die. But I'm not going to force you to stay here with me. There's so much more you need to be doing out there. Do you understand?"

"I can't get up."

He sighs. "Adriaan, unless you're trapped under a mountain of rocks like I am, I don't want to hear any excuses. You must go _now_."

"First of all, my leg is broken," I gasp out. "Second of all, some debris punctured one of my organs. And third of all…" I pause to heave in smoke-laden oxygen. "I can't leave you!" I scream out as the pains rack my body.

"Well, you're going to!" Jacen yells, angry now. "A broken leg and punctured organ never stopped _me _from running when I was a Padawan! I'm so tired of hearing your lame excuses! You're the one who's constantly whining about me underestimating you. Well, this is the time when you prove to me who you were born to be! So stop being a big wuss and get out of here!"

"I'll prove to you who's the real wuss here!" I scream back, and with a great effort I get my hands underneath me and push so that my head is raised. And then I see that I had been laying next to and yelling at a pile of debris, not my Master. "Master!" I holler, doubling over in a near-seizure as a knife stabs my guts. _I really should stop yelling; it can't be good for whatever is injured in there…_ "Master Palgwebb? Where are you?"

"Just leave!" he roars, and then I see dark, long, sinewy fingers poking out from underneath the heap of rocks. Clawing at the floor and pushing myself forward, I grab the hand and clutch it tight, and it is as if I had been thrown a lifeline, such was the comfort I found in hugging Jacen's smooth, strong hand with my own rough, calloused, barely feminine one. "You piece of chizk, you prugnuficating She-Hutt! Fierfek, if you don't get out of here in three seconds tops I'll fry you with some Force Lightning! Now I see why your mother left you on the Temple doorstep; you're just a scruffy-looking, good-for-nothing scamp weasel! I've seen bantha pies that look prettier than you, you scum of a space slug –"

Normally, any remarks about my mother – even though I never knew her, and had formed no attachments to any of my biological relatives – make me mad enough to smash the offender's face in, but I am too worried about Jacen to even care that he called me a prugnuficating She-Hutt, which is quite possibly the most offensive, unflattering thing you could ever call a female. I hold on to his hand tightly and pull as hard as I can, but Jacen seems to have gone from sixty-six kilograms to four hundred and fifty-three. A couple rocks shift and come crashing down on my bad leg, pinioning me to the floor. As the sharp shrapnel crushes my crushed leg, black water envelopes the fire encompassing my vision. An unearthly, tortured scream rips through the abysmal firmament of the world, and a small part of me is aware that the shriek came from within myself, from within my tattered guts as I lie beside my Master in our grave, breathing what little shreds of oxygen remain in our tomb.

_You can leave this pain now; it does not have to be yours. All you have to do is let go, _a voice whispers inside my shredded mind. _Just relax and let go, and you can leave. You can escape this. Just let go._

I had still miraculously held on to my Master's hand throughout the avalanche, and I suddenly regain consciousness and with that, my somatosensory system, and the awareness of the tangibility, the corporealness, the wonderfully solidity of his hand clutched within my own is like a rope one grabs the instant one falls over the abyss. And now I have the courage to defy that soft, silky voice which was so quiet yet so deceptively irresistible – a durasteel fist disguised in a velvet glove – and say, "No" _No, I will _not _let go; I will _not_ give up and allow us both to die._

And then I delve deep within my self as well as opened out to my surroundings, finding within and without me the core of energy, of the living force which is the thread that bound together the fabric of the universe, a thing so powerful that was yet given the simple and uncreative name of The Force. I touch it, breathe it in, gather it in close around me, building up a wall of energy and power to protect my Master and I from the fire.

My gut wrenches and flips, and my head jerks upward, whacking my face into a boulder. As pain threads from the top of my head to the tips of my toes I feel the Force slacken within me, but I am able to catch it and hold on, like a stubborn little child grabbing at a man's long, billowy cloak. While my body screams and protests bitterly, I force my muscles to grow taut, my lungs to expand and contract as if everything is normal, and I search deep within myself for that peace, the eye in the storm that I need to be in in order to complete my task.

_Up. _I take on the weight of the grave mound – the weight of the dead, which no living being must bear – lift it up, releasing the crushing force of the mountain from our mangled bodies, heaving it upward, forcing the heavens to accept the burden.

_Who am I? A little fourteen-year-old girl, defying physics by lifting a rock mound the size of a hill? This can't be happening; I am not capable of this. _The mountain becomes very heavy, and some of the rocks spill out from my hands and smash against the floor; I feel myself being pressed down, forced to lie back down in my grave. _You cannot escape death; no one can…_

_ "It's too heavy! What do you expect me to become, a giant Phlog wrestler?" I screamed after my third failed attempt to lift a small cruiser._

_ "Size does not matter," Master Palgwebb answered cooly._

_ Size does not matter. This is no mountain; it is a mere pebble in my hand. It cannot defeat me. _I close my eyes and insist that I am lifting a pebble, and I say it so forcefully and convincingly that part of me actually begins to believe it. And as the mountain is again uprooted, I feel another, stronger force joining in my efforts to rise.

_I'm with you, kid, _Jacen telepaths to me.

The mountain slowly dwindles to a hill, then a boulder, than a stone, then a mere pebble, until eventually it becomes nothing at all, and I slowly open my eyes to see my Master standing over my grave, holding up a stony sky as fire lashes around us.

"Adriaan, get up!" he grunts, his knees buckling. I struggle to rise, but I am firmly glued to the floor, and I can only watch helplessly as my Master's gorgeous, beautifully-muscles legs and arms begin to shake, and sweat break out across his clean face, and weariness becoming more and more the theme in his once dynamic crouching dragon posture. _Even Jacen cannot hold up a mountain forever…_

"Adriaan, please! Get up!" He's pleading now; is that really just sweat dripping down his face?

Some inward force within me obeys; I watch my body propel itself upwards – as if my soul is detached from my physical form – and lean heavily against a half-smashed wall. Jacen growls and shoots upright, his legs and arms straightening suddenly, like a bent sapling that had just been relieved from a heavy layer of snow. And then the dark, stony cave is gone, blown open to the pale lavender skies of the planet Hohepäe, the planet we have been stranded on for months. After a few days, the novelty of a purple firmament had worn off, and I had come to loathe the sky, but today was the first time in weeks that the sight of it made me glad. The pastel hue almost made me feel that I had a right to have hope, to have faith that today was the day Jacen and I were going to kiss Hohepäe and its pixie-like sky goodbye forever.

Today the normally blank-canvass firmament was no longer monotone, but filled with a multitude of flying creatures: flaming birds, fiery comets, vibrant glowflies…hang on, no, those were stones; debris…

"Sweet sookie –" I choke through streams of agony.

"You have about three seconds before one of those flying rocks smash you into a cute blond chick jam," Jacen says in my ear cheerfully, though his face is nearly unrecognizable, as his facial muscles are screwed up in pain as blood and perspiration trickle through the creases.

"I can't –" I begin, but there's no time for me to finish as he lunges for me and yanks on my arm, sending my face flying into his chest. He swiftly pushes me away from him and starts sprinting down the remains of the corridor. As he jerks me along, my eyes catch a glimpse of the boulder which had replaced me just seconds ago. _That was my death right there…_I have heard people talk about their lives flashing before their eyes in an instant; well, that was what I saw now, as that one glimpse of the rock was burned into a permanent image in my mind.

_We mortals are so vulnerable, so weak that we could die at any given moment. Or perhaps are deaths are not quite so instantaneous; perhaps a more positive way of looking at it is that as soon as we are born, we begin to die. _I frown as my brain processes my rumination. _That wasn't as positive a thought as I had hoped. _I am not surrounded by uplifting surroundings, either; flames wash over my body as I stumble after my Master, the fire waving over us as fluidly as water. Flaming debris come crashing down on top of us, and every air we breathe is a noxious fume. It looks and feels like we are in hell.

My reflections are abruptly cut short by a wave of nausea throwing me bodily to what is left of the floor. My right leg buckles up underneath me, every muscle in it screaming the leg's ultimate despair, and I know that I am no longer capable of making it obey me. The child inside me – the ageless plague known as Pain – kicks and screams wildly, threatening to make my guts burst. And deep down inside, even through all the insane agony, I realize that I am dying, that in all likelihood, I _will _die.

"Come on, up, up, UP!" My relentless Master drives his slave to her one good foot somehow and makes her half run, half hop as he drags her along. The sky is falling on top of us now; the lavender firmament gets closer, closer…the walls of the fortress crumble around us, and yet we are still running, running…

"Faster! Come on, faster!" Jacen screams. In an effort to obey, I accidentally set my injured leg down on the ground in the impossible hope that I can somehow use it to finish my run. But no one, not even I – and, although he will never admit it, not even Jacen – can run on a broken leg.

The ground becomes knives and stabs upward through the soles of my feet to the core of my being. My body careens around, my gut is being forced through my esophagus, and I see a stream of dark blood spewing from my broken lips and staining my hands, the ground, Jacen's shirt, his arms, his hand…

The blood keeps coming, and my hands reach up to choke the stream, and in doing so, I let go of him.

I let go. And then I fall.

The ground lurches before my face for the final time.

And then I am swept off my feet; the angels are bearing me aloft. My death must have been quiet, swift, instantaneous. _How come I do not remember it? _And how strange angels are; why, this one looks quite familiar, at least, the arms and hands do…strong, sinewy, long arms, with lean, strong, large hands to match. In life I saw those hands often; either raised in a closed fist to strike me, or – and this was less often, unfortunately – resting comfortingly and lovingly on my shoulder. They were hands that were incredibly smooth except for the long, ridged callous on the palms, but then, all lightsaber-practitioners carry those scars…

"Jace –" I only get the first syllable out before more black fluid clogs my voice.

His face is very close to mine; he somehow picked me up in mid-run, and my arms somehow found their way around his neck. My head is cradled in the space between his shoulder and his chin, and such precious space becomes stained from the black fountain of bile that will not stop spilling from my mouth. His shirt becomes wet and sticky from the fluid, and still the vomit keeps coming. I attempt to tilt my head to the side so that I won't spill any more bile on my savior, but he jogs my head roughly back against his neck and growls, "Be still!"

So I lie in his arms miserably, hating my own weakness, trying in vain to stop the flow of blood from my lips. Someone whimpers in my ear, and at first I think it is Jacen on account of the bile – but no, he doesn't seem to mind; I don't think he even notices – but then I realize that it is me.

And I can tell from the gait of his walk that we aren't going to get very far.

"Jacen, you have to let me go," I plead, "better one of us die than both of us. Please. I'm killing you."

"Can't talk. Must run," he pants.

"But that's what you told me to do earlier! You told me to leave you! Why would you command me to do something you don't have the guts to do yourself?" I demand through the constant stream of blood.

"Yes, I told you, and as you can see, you didn't listen. You disobeyed me; I'm merely returning the disrespect." He leaps wildly to the side, and I feel a hot rush of air whistle past my cheek as a flaming boulder smashes where we were nanoseconds earlier. The building seems to have collapsed completely; I can feel the wind whipping through my wet, ragged tunic, threatening to tear me from my Master's grasp. We are outside.

Jacen suddenly pauses, his chest heaving against my body. I dare to look out.

And I cover my eyes almost as soon as they see the yawning abyss before Jacen's feet.

"Master, please, no –"

"This building was built on an ocean cliffside, remember?" he wheezes.

"Master, we can't…your phobia of heights –"

"Can't help it now," he says grimly, his voice shaking. I press my face against his damp tunic and muffle my scream as I feel his feet leave the ground and catapult our bodies over the cliff.

And then we fall. Falling through a terrifying bliss, freedom that is so empty it's frightening. Emptiness that is so palpable Jacen feels like the whispers of a mere daydream, a memory long faded and forgotten…

And who knew water felt like a slab of duracrete when one plunged into it after a ten kilometer drop…


	2. Chapter 1: Arsenal Upgrade

**_Su'cuy! _Welcome to chapter 1 of _Syzygy! _As usual, all comments are welcome. Many thanks to those who show a continued interest in _Galactic War, _despite my few and far between updates :-/**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Star Wars, _nor did I develop the Mandalorian culture and language. I do, however, take credit for creating the majority of characters who play any part in the _Galactic War _series_. _[Note: most of the characters are not made "from scratch" (i.e., pure figments of my wild imagination); many are based on people who play (or played) major roles in my life.]**

**_Syzygy_ is dedicated to all the peeps on fanfiction who encouraged me to finish this series (you all know who you are ;-)) You guys are the best! _Syzygy _is also a tribute to my best friend, whom I quote at the beginning of this chapter. He was the one who inspired me to think, to act, to be first and foremost a martial artist.**

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Chapter 1

_"No, she's not a born fighter: she was born to take a hit. It's my job to take that resilience to a punch and nurture it so that it will grow into the strength to kayo the person who dared to sock her in the nose." – _Jacen Palgwebb, in response to various Jedi Masters' astonishment at his Apprentice's incredible tenacity.

✶ The _Fortitude_, in transit, 406 days ABG✶

"Ma'am! Are you awake? General ell Talaan! Wake up!" Wolf yelled, pressing his mouth against the closed door. Kan stood by patiently as the soldier frustratedly tried to raise his commanding officer on his wrist link, only to become even more irritated as Adriaan's comm continually beeped on the other side of the door as no one bothered to pick it up and answer it.

"She's normally not a heavy sleeper," the clone commented when it became undeniable that General ell Talaan was not going to answer the door. The Captain – metamorphosing precipitately from stentorian and infuriated to equanimous and astute – replaced his helmet and turned to the Padawan questioningly. "Well, Commander, what do you suggest we do?"

Kan Enik did not like clones, but they always managed to butter him up with their compulsion to call him "sir" or "commander". It gave him a feeling of distance from them, a sense of authority and prestige. "Walk in," he suggested offhandedly, flicking his Padawan braid over his shoulder.

The soldier shifted uncomfortably, a patent indication that Kan had given him an order that was incompatible with the intrinsic moral code that was a congenital defect present in all clones. "But sir, she's sleeping –"

"And her presence is _required_ on the bridge, not requested," Adriaan's student answered. "Besides, it's not like her to sleep deeply; she probably just has her music player headphones in, so she can't hear us knocking."

Wolf still temporized, which was unusual, for he was normally a pretty spontaneous guy. "It's not, well – it's against trooper protocol to enter the women's quarters, and…it's just not right to break down a lady's door like that!" he burst out finally.

Kan sighed, because he really didn't know how to respond to that statement without looking ignoble. So he merely shrugged and insouciantly Force-pushed the door open.

Jedi General Adriaan ell Talaan of Ade Verda Brigade was perched on top of a chair, her right leg hooked behind her head and her hands folded in front of her in some sort of bizarre meditative stance. Her entire body weight was being held up by her left foot's big toe. Her posture was so alien and unreal that both Jedi Apprentice and clone could do nothing but stare at her in shocked silence for a good ten minutes. Eventually, Kan rallied enough of his senses to choke out, "Adriaan, Jordin just recontacted us on the bridge. She wants to finish her conversation with you immediately."

The Jedi was taciturn; her eyes were squeezed shut, wisps of blond hair blowing across her face as her normally taut lips slack in a chimerical state. She looked so utterly relaxed in such an impossible, contortionist-type position, that Kan feared she had died.

And then her right calf muscle twitched the slightest bit, and her lips began to quiver, to mouth incomprehensible words under her breath. Her eyebrows sank down against her eyelids, and sweat popped out on her face. Her whole body began to flutter.

"I'm not tired; I'm fine, stop treating me like a little kid!" she screamed suddenly. "Put me down, put me down _now!" _Her leg whipped out from behind her head and began popping machine-gun kicks as her hands snapped into a warrior stance.

"Adriaan!" Wolf shouted, moving toward her. He grabbed her by the arm to haul her off her perch, but she whacked him away with a middle knife block and began to expertly pummel him with her feet and fists.

"I told you to just put me down! Don't kill yourself just to save me!" she screamed. Suddenly her eyes clicked open, all blue ice and yellowy heat and wide with an inexplicable terror. "Jacen!" she yelped, and then she crashed unceremoniously to the floor.

"General? Ma'am…Adriaan, are you all right?" Clone and Padawan said at the same time, both rushing forward simultaneously to help her. The Jedi was on her feet even before they reached her, and she looked so feral and menacing they didn't dare to move any closer, for fear that she would attack. "Adriaan?" Wolf asked cautiously. Kan glared at the clone. _He shouldn't be calling her by her first name…_

She abruptly relaxed her fighter's stance as she seemed to recognize them as friendlies. "Who just called me Adriaan?" she demanded sternly.

Kan heard the soldier gulp. "Um, sorry, ma'am; I just wasn't thinking," Wolf admitted, hangdog-like.

She stared him down. "What happened to calling me _Ori'vod?" _she asked. "Why do you no longer call me your big sister? Was it something I did?"

The clone scuffed his boots on the floor. "No, it was something _I _did," he said quietly.

Her face once again slid into a cool mask of torpor. "You are no doubt referring to saving my life by conducting mouth-to-mouth resuscitation," she said with plainly expressed ennui.

Wolf cleared his throat. "Actually, ma'am, I want to apologize for that –"

"No thank you," Adriaan said, her temper flaring. "I don't want your apology because there's nothing to be sorry about. Now, suppose you two explain why you barged in here without my permission."

"You promised Jordin you'd contact her once we were aboard the_ Fortitude, _since you couldn't trust the communication systems down on the planet," Kan pointed out.

His Master passed a hand over her forehead, instantly placid. "Quite right; I completely forgot. I didn't know I would meditate for so long. Usually I can only stand the equanimity and acedia for about five minutes."

"You were tired," Kan hastened to comfort her.

"And an exhausted general is unacceptable," Adriaan remarked, pulling on her outer tunic. "Very well, let's go."

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"What sort of information do you want?" Jordin inquired.

"Look up files on the Death Watch, and any Mandalorian warriors under the appellations of Rune and Atoya. Also, it would be a great help if you sent us a tracking report of General Grievous –"

_She looks tired, _Kan noted with some concern as his tireless tutor continued to add names to an increasingly tedious list of Intel to a clearly weary Padawan. Adriaan's first Padawan stood off a little to the side, feeling excruciatingly self-conscious looking upon his best friend for the first time in several weeks. She had always been a thin, spritely little girl, but now she was emaciated, almost lifeless. And he still couldn't get over the fact that her long tresses of red hair had been shorn off. What had possessed the girl to get a crewcut? He longed to ask her, but something in her tone and bearing made him hesitate. She was no longer the bright, cheerful girl he once knew. Fourteen-year-old Kan Enik found himself looking upon a strange, gorgeous, alien woman.

"I'll do my best, ah…what was your name again?" Jordin said when her Master finally got to the end of her spiel.

"Ree –" the Jedi Knight froze, and her expression became taut. "I mean, Adriaan ell Talaan. Your Master."

"Oh, yes. Forgive me." The brain-fried Padawan floundered for a painful moment, as if it took all of her concentration and focus to remember what she wanted to say next.

"So, um, I'll let you get to work now," Adriaan prompted, making a move to cut the communication. "Take care, Jordin."

"And keep an eye on Rez for me, will you?" Rez's commanding officer broke in. "I don't trust the scrawny little imp out on Triple Zero alone."

"Oh, but he's not alone," Jordin replied with an unexpected burst of radiance and verve. "He's with Synta."

Adriaan hemmed and hawed histrionically.

"Synta?" Ember asked, a jet-black eyebrow shooting up quizzically. "Oh, the acting CO on Triple Zero, I suppose?"

Adriaan cleared her throat again, in earnest this time. "Well, ah, she _is_ a soldier," she said. "Ah, that is…_preparing_ to join the GAR, anyway."

"'She'." The ELF Commando's voice was suspicious, dangerously apoplectic. "So you mean to say that my little brother is running around Coruscant with a woman I have not approved of, and you've known about it and deliberately withheld this information from me, his superior?"

"Do not forget that I am also his superior, and that I outrank _you _as well," The General retorted, her cheeks flushing at her subordinate's patronizing tenor. "Before we went black ops on Kuat, Rez sent me a text explaining the situation. I've exchanged a few communications with Synta on a secure link. She seems to be a…wholesome girl."

"But if she's planning to join the GAR, she must be at least seventeen," Ember pointed out. "That means she's three years Rez's senior in biological years, and six years chronologically. That's just wrong; I will not allow Rez to be led about by this woman –"

"Rez isn't one to be 'led about'" Adriaan contradicted sharply. "And Synta isn't a manipulative woman. She's the only thing that's kept Rez stable his entire stay on Coruscant. Give the girl a chance, for stars' sake, and trust my judgement in this matter. Face it, I have more worldly experience than you do, and I've judged her character as appropriate."

The Commander said nothing, but his scowl didn't lessen the tiniest fraction.

The Jedi was also incandescent, but she disguised her emotions better. Putting on her sabacc face, she turned back to the holo. "Thank you so much for contacting us and alerting us of your recovery, Jordin. It's so good to see you alive and well again," she said. "I'm not sure when we'll be able to talk to you again, but we'll get back to you when we can. May the Force be with you."

"May it also be with you," Jordin said rapidly, as if she wanted to get it all over with. "Now may I speak to Kan?"

Adriaan's deadpan expression didn't change, but her voice communicated her puzzlement. "Kan?"

"Yes. I haven't spoken to him for weeks," Jordin said in her usual matter-of-fact humor. "He's my best friend, and I want to speak to him in private, if you don't mind…you _do_ understand, don't you, Master?"

An artless smile cracked the icy demeanor shielding Adriaan's pale form. "Of course I understand, Jordin." She beckoned for Kan to advance as she and the other members of the team turned away to leave. "You can transfer the call to your room, so you won't be disturbed," she whispered in his ear as she passed. "Come down to Storage Area 2B when you're finished. I've come up with another training session that I think you'll all benefit from."

_Oh, great. _Kan grimaced at the thought of another hellish workout, but he pasted on a synthetic smile and said with an alacrity that only penetrated his facial expression, "Okay, thanks Master. See you later."

A few minutes later, he had closed the door to his room securely behind him and had flicked back on the communication. Jordin's pale, thin, bluish image shimmered into view on the holotable. "Hello, Kan," she said cheerfully, but her joviality sounded a bit labored.

"Hey, Jordin," Kan replied, and he was surprised at how equally tired _his _voice sounded.

There was a pause that went on for too long. Then, finally, Jordin said, "I got your letter."

"Oh?" Kan tried to maintain a casual appearance as his heart rate spiked. _I wonder if she disapproves of what I asked her to do. Will she tell on me? _"Well, are you in?" he prompted.

"How could you ask such a thing?" Jordin chided gently. "You're like a big brother to me, Kan; I'd die for you. So of course I'm in. I'll contact you when I get results." She sighed and ran her hand unconsciously over her cleanly shaven head.

"Snazzy haircut," Kan said chivalrously.

Jordin grimaced. "Thanks. Rez cut it for me." She paused delicately. "He's a really sweet boy, Kan; I don't understand why you don't like him."

Kan's lips involuntarily pursed together. Jordin had deliberately tread on forbidden ground by bringing up the matter of his prejudice against the clone troopers. _And she of all people should understand, _he thought angrily. _She was there on Geonosis with me; she saw my Master die. It's not the clones themselves that I hate; it's who they represent. They are copies of my Master's murderer. Until I can see past their faces, I can't love them. _"I don't think it wise for you to broach that subject with me," he announced frostily.

Jordin's face crumpled as if she had been slapped, and though her dejected stance melted the ice in his heart, it did not soften the iron resolve in his soul, nor heal the wound which still bled unstintingly inside him. "I'm sorry, Kan," she said. "It's just that I can't despise Rez because, well, he saved my life, and he's been so kind to me this entire time. I know you won't understand, but I can't hate him just because his face happens to remind me of a cold-blooded killer."

Kan sighed. "So you are asking for my approval of you liking clones?" he said. "Very well, I approve of it, but I am sorry to say I cannot follow in your footsteps. Not everyone is an angel like you, Jordin."

"Oh, but I'm not an angel," Jordin protested. "Far from it; I commit errors just as often as anyone. Don't ever think yourself incapable of loving, Kan, for it is our very natureto love."

"Just give me some time," Kan pleaded. "This is just a mental block I need to hurdle. I'll get over it someday. I promise."

"Okay," Jordin said, with a smile that did not touch her melancholy eyes. "Just please, please try harder to stop hating them. For my sake. Could you do that for me?"

Could he do it for her? Kan smiled; it was the same question he had asked of her earlier. "How could you ask such a thing?" he replied. "Of course I'll do it, if only for your sake."

* * *

Wolf tore off his shirt and jogged into the storage area. The room had been cleared; most of the boxes had been pushed back, forming a square arena in the center of the floor. As the shadow ops trooper loped between columns of crates, a cheer erupted from amongst the Padawans and soldiers standing on the sidelines. The ELF Captain, who had been expecting to walk in the room to find an intense training session, took his place alongside his brothers and turned to see what so engaged their attention.

Adriaan stood in the center of the floor, her knees coiled beneath her in a backstance, her arms windmilling around her in a complicated martial arts hand technique. Kay Lee stood off to the side, balancing what appeared to be slabs of duracrete. Suddenly she tossed one over Adriaan, and the Jedi's front leg snapped up and kicked a full meter above her head, smashing the board into smithereens. The crowd oohed and ahed as the Jedi Knight changed into a dragon stance and began her Taikaido form, called SamJang, the Form of Fire.

And she looked like a firesprite, kicking and punching and leaping in the air, never halting in the intricate movements of the martial arts dance. Air hissed between her teeth whenever she landed a move, and as she punched, she let out a roar of such virile ferocity that it rooted everyone to the spot, petrified. Her hair, pulled back into a tight ponytail, flew loose from its holder and floated wildly in the air, dancing like yellow flames as she tornado kicked again and again, breaking each duracrete slab Kay Lee expertly tossed to her. Suddenly she came to a standstill, one hand poised above her head, the other extended out, her legs bent in a deep stance. Then she took a deep breath, and with a flick of her wrist, her arms closed into the 'at ease' position as she clicked her heels together and bowed amidst the ruins of about two dozen duracrete bricks.

Wolf joined enthusiastically in the thunderous applause. They had all seen their young and limber teacher in action before of course, but she had never really shown off for them. Now he could see why the Jedi Council valued her so highly; she was a truly magnificent martial artist. He wondered who had been her mentor; he or she surely must've been one of the greatest warriors of all time. The Padawans had all warned him that asking Adriaan about her past was tantamount to sticking your head in a rancor's mouth, but Wolf nevertheless resolved then and there to ask her who her teacher had been.

"Okay, okay, I know you're just applauding to flatter me so I'll go more easy on you guys in today's training session, so just can it," Adriaan said with mock sternness, tightening her ponytail and shaking her arms and legs out to loosen them up. "Everyone into the ring and begin warmup. Give me twenty-five phase five burpees to warm your muscles up and after a couple more dynamic exercises we'll do some static stretching."

The Padawans – especially the Wicked Club and Klamin, who hated exercise of any form – groaned and dropped down to crank out their set of burpees. Wolf and his brothers completed the exercise with relative ease and then did some sparring footwork drills until Adriaan instructed them all to stretch. Beginning with the legs, she made sure they stretched their hamstrings well, then had them go down into the splits for five minutes each. This exercise the clones found especially difficult and strenuous, so they were glad when the static stretching was done and their Master made them all get up and run a few laps around the ring to finish warming their muscles. As they were jogging, Adriaan rolled her head from side to side to stretch the tendons in her neck and began explaining to them what the training session for the day was going to be.

"Last class we had was a few weeks ago, on a cruiser in transit to our Umbria mission," she reminded them. "A few of you do not have the brain capacity to recall the nature of that session," at this she glared pointedly at the Wicked Club, "so I will remind you all what the point of the last class was. You were supposed to learn how to fight as a team. Since that session, all of you have demonstrated the ability to work together, even without my guidance. A special commendation goes to the twins, Aedan and Andora, for their demonstration of outstanding fortitude and versatility during our mission to Umbria. Together, they held their own against General Grievous, a warrior who has slain countless Jedi Knights but who failed to kill them, two mere Padawans." Her arm swept out to indicate the twins as she inclined her head in a rare display of respect. "I am proud to call myself the Master of these two young, brilliant warriors."

"I opine we are ineligible of your august laudation –" Andora stammered, her face turning red with embarrassment.

"Shut up, GOOD! Of course we are! At least, _I_ am!" Aedan bragged, slowing from a jog to a smug swagger, striking superhero poses to show off nonexistent muscles as he strutted. "Well, what's our WICKED prize? What did we WICKEDLY win?"

"Aedan!" his sister cried, shocked. "Be not so avaricious! Our superior's approbation is indubitably ample perquisite."

"How is _that _a reward?" the Wicked King scoffed, nonchalantly resuming his run after several of his teammates had bumped into him, spoiling what he thought was an imperious – but was in fact farcical – parade. "I'm praised all the time!"

"I urbanely gainsay –"

"It seems you two still have some differences to work out," Adriaan remarked drily. "Anyhow, there is no need to argue, because I _do _have gifts – for all of you, in fact."

Andora moued. "I do not covet the largesse, Master…"

"Well, I don't care, because you're going to need it for the lesson today," their Master interrupted brusquely. "You may all stop running and return to your class spots." When they had done so, she continued, "you may all have a fairly good idea now of what today's lesson will be, but just in case, I will explain: you have now mastered the art of working together, so now you must learn to operate alone."

The group shifted, team members murmuring excitedly.

Adriaan hooked her fingers in her belt, her finger caressing the hilt of her lightsaber. "By operating alone, I mean you must learn how to not think, but to do: to accomplish this, I must train your bodies to the breaking point and rebuild them into weapons, weapons which act on pure instinct, the key to survival. But remember, the difference between who wins and loses is that the champion is the one who controls the contest. You cannot expect things to go your way if you simply react to your opponent's attacks. There is a dissimilarity to acting and reacting, and you must master both to become a successful fighter."

"And what does the gift have to do with operating alone?" Kay asked.

"The one who controls the fight is the one who figures out his opponent before the opponent figures him out," the Jedi said. "There are various ways to ensure that your adversary can't get the upper hand of you, and one technique is to develop a your own combat style instead of conforming to the traditional ones. If you use a new style on an opponent, that opponent is less likely to predict what you are going to do than if you are using a standard technique on him."

"So in other words, today we are going to be selfish beings, focusing only on ourselves and what style we are most comfortable with," Cor said.

The Knight grinned. "Well, that's one way to put it."

Klamin raised his hand as if he were in a classroom.

"Yes, Padawan J'Oli?" Adriaan sighed.

"I have a question: are there unique battle styles for firearms combat as well?" he asked with a pointed stare at the clones.

"As a matter of fact, yes, but I plan on giving the ELFs a further advantage by teaching them hand-to-hand Jedi combat as well," she said.

"You mean you're going to teach them Jedi skills?" the Shi'Odo yelped. "Is that even allowed?"

"Of course," General ell Talaan said with a frown. "Why else would the Council have given me the ELFs if they weren't going to let me teach them as I would my own Padawans?"

"Does this mean we're getting lightsabers?" Lance asked eagerly, before Klamin could protest any further.

The Knight grinned but shook her head. "No – lightsabers are tricky to handle for non-Force-adepts. Non-Jedi can do it, but they can't expect to become any better than a first-year Jedi Padawan. But don't worry, I'll give you an alternative weapon that is almost as good, and is non-Force-user friendly."

She sauntered over to one of the bins bordering the "arena" and aimed a kick at it, sending it tumbling over onto its side. The contents spilled out on the ground for everyone to see. Adriaan bent down over the assembled pile of various metal, plastoid, and even crystal objects, and selected several thin cylinders, which she held up for the clones to view. "These are energy swords called lightfoils," she explained. "They are not as clumsy as other energy weapons, nor are they as graceful and powerful as a lightsaber, but you will find they are a satisfactory substitution for a Jedi weapon. They are thinner than lightsaber blades, but they are heavier, which makes them accessible to non-Force-adepts."

"One would think the heavier weapon would be more awkward to handle than a lighter blade," Lance observed.

In answer, the General tossed him a lightsaber clipped to her belt. As he caught it one-handed, she activated her own and went into a guard stance. "Come on, then; give me your best shot."

Lance twirled the weapon from one hand to another and executed a figure eight to get a better feel for the balance of the blade. Then he charged, swinging at the Jedi with a quick upward thrust angled from the left to the right. Adriaan stood still, her sword held away from her body, and though Lance's form looked far from the graceful, seemingly effortless moves executed by even the most maladroit students in the Varactyl Clan, it certainly seemed certain he was going to score a hit on her. But at the last nanosecond, the warrior shifted her neck and shoulders, tilting her head and upper body to the side so that the saber passed millimeters from her neck and chest. The inexperienced soldier was unable to react fast enough to halt the movement and retaliate with a forty-five degree swipe as any first year Jedi Apprentice would, so he was forced to finish the first swing, costing him precious moments of his time. The spectators expected the General to whack him smartly over the head with her lightsaber, but all the Jedi did was simply grab the wrist of Lance's sword hand. Everyone gasped as the extra push sent the lightsaber spinning out of the clone's hands and landing, deactivated, with a solid _clank _on the floor.

"_That _is why," Adriaan said calmly, using the Force to bring the fallen sword back to her hand. "The lightsaber is the lightest weapon in the galaxy, and its lack of weight makes it extremely hard to control."

"_Shab, _boys, wielding one of those shiny sticks is harder than these Jedi make it look, Lance said in the subcutaneous link. "That toy was so light it almost felt I didn't have anything in my hand."

"In fact, it is extremely difficult – almost to the point of impossibility – for anyone without an inkling of Force sensitivity to be able to wield a lightsaber with any sort of control and precision. You will have much better luck developing your swordsmanship with lightfoils," the Jedi said, Force-tossing the weapons to the ELF Commandos.

Wolf intercepted his and held the object at eye level, examining it with a gaze well-experienced in assessing armament. The hilt was plain gunmetal gray, and unadorned except for a small red button situated on its side. Directing the barrel end away from his body, he flicked the button up, and was rewarded by a long shaft of blue-grey light projecting from the mouth, emitting a soft humming sound that was at a higher pitch than the sound the Jedi weapon emanated. As the clone looked around, he noticed that their General had solicitously given them all lightfoils with colored blades which corresponded to the markings on their armor. Ember held a smart red lightfoil, Nano sported a sunny yellow, Lance proudly swung a teal-colored blade, Onor looked at his aqua blue one apprehensively, while the others boasted similarly color-coordinated weapons. The ELF Commando looked away from his own new toy to see Adriaan holding out a dark green one to him. "I get double, ma'am?" he asked, astonished at his good fortune.

"No, this one is for Rez," she said, deactivating it and handing it over to him. Her former displeasure with the Captain seemed forgotten. "I trust you to take good care of it until he gets back."

"You can count on me, _Ori'vod," _he said happily.

"Now," the Jedi said, looking around. "As for the Padawans, I give you all one month to decide on and begin developing your new styles. I will critique your performances at the end of that time period." Catching the dirty look some of the lazier Apprentices – that is, Marya, the Wicked Club, and Klamin – gave her, she added, "You are lucky I have decided not to adopt my Master's method of selecting styles and forms for my own students, but to allow you all to figure out your own personal styles on your own. If you have any difficulties, you may ask me or any of your peers for assistance.

"In addition to learning your own form, you must also learn my custom combat form, which I will be employing to teach the ELFs how to wield their lightfoils with some degree of proficiency. I do not expect you to immediately replace your current lightsaber style with the new one; in fact, I advise against it. Last time I was at the Jedi Temple I took the opportunity to collect extra sets of generic lightsaber hilts, which you see scattered amongst this assortment of hilt adapters and customizations. There are double the amount of hilts than there are students in this pile, in the unlikely event that you all opt for a double-saber style of combat. You will spend the next week or so building your secondary lightsabers in the spare time between objectives. You are not under any circumstances to use these new swords for activities other than practice drills until I say you have become adept enough in the new technique to be reliable on a mission. In short, you will use your current fighting styles on all assignments and objectives while working on your custom forms in your spare time." She paused to make sure everyone had kept pace with her heteroclitically long-winded speech. "Is that understood?"

"Yes ma'am!" everyone chorused.

"Good. Now…" Adriaan Force-pushed all the materials into the bin and slammed the lid back on. Everyone watched, baffled, as she hefted it onto her back and Force-threw it into a turbolift ten meters away. She then loped quickly to the lift and squeezed herself in after the crate. "Some idiot has smuggled in four hundred and sixty battle droids into this storage area," she said, rotating to address them. "Before you begin your assignments, it is your imperative duty for each of you to fix this…error. If you are a Padawan and have successfully taken care of twenty droids, come and see me to gather the hilt and customizations for your new lightsaber. If you are a clone, come and see me and –" she held out her hand, and Wolf felt an invisible force tear the lightfoil from his grasp, "– you will get your lightfoil back." She stuffed the foils into her pack and grinned as the turbolift began to close. "Have fun."

"What a flot_,_"The sloth-prone Shi'Odo muttered.

"GOOD!" the Wicked Club cried indignantly.

The disgruntled group turned and began to draw their weapons as the droids afore mentioned materialized out of the gloom and marched slowly into the arena.

"I really hate it when she does that," Kan growled through clenched teeth.


	3. Chapter 2: Long Shadows at Sunset

**_Su'cuy! _Welcome to Chapter 2 of _Syzygy! _As usual, reviews are greatly appreciated. And _Ori'vor'e _(Thanks a million!) to those who continue to show their support for my stories!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own _Star Wars, _nor did I develop the Mandalorian culture and language.**

**The opening quote is taken from Chapter 8 of Book 3, _The Front Line. _The title of the chapter is taken from a phrase of Adriaan's Jordin quotes in the chapter. I believe it is based on a Japanese saying; I feel dumb because I honestly can't remember where I got the quote :-P Anyway, the saying has been on my mind lately, and as usual, I've incorporated my thoughts into my writings. **

**This chapter is a bit short (for my chapters, anyway :-/) and doesn't have the usual building detonations, lightsaber clashes, fire fights, and martial arts galore, but it is by no means an unimportant section of the story. I hope you guys like it! **

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Chapter 2

_"What I find most mysterious is this Adriaan ell Talaan. She just appeared out of nowhere. There is no background information in the Archives on her. It's as if she was just born." – _Unidentified Jedi, approximately two months after the Battle of Geonosis.

✶ Triple Zero: The Jedi Archives, 407 days ABG ✶

Eight hours cross-checking mercenary activity in the Core with tracking reports of Death Watch activities, along with searching for files apropos to two Mandalorians named Rune and Atoya, was not exactly the activity Jordin had in mind to be engaged in during her convalescence. She ineptly rubbed her eyes, trying to retain her focus on the datascreen she had been hunched over for hours without respite. _But at least I have help, _Jordin thought, peeping over the computer screen at the Temple librarian, Jocasta Nu, who had joined the search two hours ago. The normally stern librarian had taken pity on Jordin and had offered the girl her valuable services. As Jocasta was more acquainted with this type of job, Jordin was more than happy to accept her aid.

Light footsteps approached from behind, followed by the tantalizing smell of hot caf sweetened with Corellian chocolate. "Thought you might need an energy boost," Zett said in his grave voice, handing the steaming mug to his friend with a quiet smile. Jordin concentrated on her facial muscles, working hard to beam gratefully at her friend in return for his benignity. It felt more like a lopsided grimace than a heartfelt grin, but Zett understood; he knew the head injury had caused her to lose control of her facial expressions. She was getting better, but a full recuperation was going to take a very long time.

"Acquired," Madame Nu remarked crisply – it was the first word she had spoken since she had started. Jordin excitedly hastened to rise to her feet, but her body was stiff from remaining in one position for so long – and besides that, she still hadn't the coordination to stand up on her own – so she could only collapse anemically back into her chair. Jocasta, however, graciously accessed the file and sent it into the air so that the infirm Apprentice could see from her vantage point.

It was a holomap of the Core, with a blinking red tracking reticule heading steadily towards a planet labeled "Kuat". Jordin stared at the chart, trying to follow the chain of Aurebesh streaming next to the dot on the map. "What is this?" she asked finally.

"We've had a Jedi team monitoring Death Watch activity for months now," Jocasta explained. "They patched me in to their holofeed, so what I've been doing for the past two hours is watching the Death Watch camp. Ten minutes ago a two Mandalorians hopped onto their ship and took off, presumably on their leader's orders. A scan indicated they set the hyperspace coordinates for Kuat. As their is little indication that the Kuati have any friendly dealings with Death Watch or Mandos in general, we can safely assume these might be the Rune and Atoya your Master is looking for."

"Oh, thank you, Madame Nu!" Padawan Skraps cried enthusiastically.

"As for General Grievous, I am sorry to say that there is no news to report on his whereabouts," Madame Nu continued.

But Skraps had expected that. Grievous was all too clever in the art of strategic disappearance. He would resurface when it was time for him to make his move. "Thank you, Madame," Jordin said, inclining her head to show her respect. "I'll give this information to Kan immediately."

"Kan?" Jocasta asked sharply, her hoary brows drawing together quizzically. "I thought this information was for your Master."

Jordin mentally wobbled for a long minute, then suddenly remembered. "Oh, yes, of course!" she said with a short bark of a laugh. "This was for Master Adriaan…_right_. On her behalf I offer you her sincere gratitude. We are truly indebted to you."

"Glad to be of service, my dear," Madame Nu said with a dainty bow. "May the Force grant you a swift recovery and success on this assignment." With a rustle of skirts, she turned and swept out of the room. Zett, mumbling that he had classes to attend, exited almost immediately after Jocasta, after getting Jordin's comlink out for her and dialing in Adriaan's number.

_Curse this forgetfulness, _Jordin thought as a tall, blond young woman shimmered into view on her comlink holoscreen. Behind her appeared a shorter, darker, masculine figure. _Kan looks so grown up, _she thought admiringly, gazing at his serious face. But her veneration for him faded, however, as she began to feel something in his visage that was not altogether right. _Why does he look so torporific? What's happened to him?_

"Well?" The blond said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Master…Adriaan, is it?" Jordin asked helplessly. At the confirmatory nod, she continued, "I'm dispatching the Intel you need. Rune and Atoya left a Death Watch garrison minutes ago and appear to be heading toward Kuat. ETA is currently oh-thirteen-hundred." _ETA – Estimated Time of Arrival. Hah, I'm remembering now!_

Adriaan's head tilted toward her datapad. "File transmitted. Good work, Jordin."

"Madame Jocasta found the information for me," Jordin corrected.

"Give her my thanks, then." Adriaan appeared completely engrossed with the holo Jordin sent her. Jordin didn't mind; it gave her more of an opportunity to scrutinize Kan. _Those dark circles under his eyes…they weren't there before, _she realized. _And this feeling of darkness…why do I sense this shadow in him? _

_ "He's on a very important assignment, Jordin, and you know what a slave driver Adriaan is. He's just enervated."_

"Kan?" she asked aloud.

He started, as if he had been jolted awake. "Yes?" he said, rather curtly.

"Are you…" she grappled to find the right words. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he said with some surprise. "Why do you ask?"

"You…you look tired."

"Oh, that's just the holoscreen," he said with a dismissive shrug. "The blue tincture makes everyone look exhausted."

"Oh, right." Jordin nodded in agreement, although the anxious knot in her stomach didn't loosen.

"We could all use a little rest," Adriaan remarked. Kan jumped and glanced guiltily at Adriaan; neither he nor Jordin had realized she had been paying any attention. "I'm having the Padawans develop their own personal styles of lightsaber combat at the moment. They've all been working hard…possibly a little _too_ hard."

"Even the Wicked Club?" the redhead Padawan asked with some surprise.

Kan nodded. "Aedan's the most excited about this assignment," he admitted. "He hasn't stopped working on his new lightsaber hilt ever since he copped the parts he needed."

"Aedan always did enjoy exercising his imagination," Adriaan said with a grin. "I knew this was a task that would interest him."

"When are you cleared for active duty?" Kan asked with a significant look. Jordin, even in her discombobulated state of mind, realized what he meant. _Have you gotten the information I wanted yet?_

"I'm not sure," Jordin replied. "Rez is chomping on the bit to get going, but it won't be for at least another day or two." _I'm still researching._

"Take your time," Adriaan broke in encouragingly. "TBI is no trifling injury to get over. Take it easy and don't worry about us, all right?"

"I will," Jordin said, nodding clumsily. "May the Force be with you." _And get some sleep, Kan, _her eyes pleaded to him silently, _you need all of your strength._

Kan appeared to be incredibly interested in the plight of his scruffy, abraded boots, so he didn't return her gaze. Heartbroken at her friend's despondency, Jordin turned to her Master. "May the Force be with you," she said, not realizing until too late that she was repeating herself.

"And with you. Oh, wait one, is Rez available?" Adriaan asked suddenly.

Jordin didn't know; she hadn't seen him since he had dropped her off at the library. "Last time I checked he was with Synta," she admitted.

"And how long ago was that?" her Master persisted.

"About eight hours ago," Jordin confessed sheepishly.

But Adriaan didn't appear distressed in the slightest bit. Why should she be? Rez and Synta were both exemplary, squeaky-clean young adults. "Well, they're both good kids. I'm sure they're keeping out of trouble," the Jedi said. "The only reason I ask is because Ember is freaking out about Rez hanging out with a female."

"They're not doing anything wrong," Jordin affirmed.

"I know," Adriaan replied. "But Ember thinks it's too risky. Plus he's ticked that I didn't tell him about it right away. I figured I'd better give Rez a heads-up before he sees his commanding officer again, because I can smell a nasty dressing-down cooking in Ember's brain."

"Well, you have his number," Jordin said with a shrug, slightly miffed that her Master was acting as if the redhead was personally accountable for the reliable – albeit slightly sophomoric – soldier. "I'm going to go get some rest now."

"Oh, okay," Adriaan said. "Sorry for delaying you."

"Goodnight," Jordin said impatiently.

"Is it really night over there?" the Jedi asked incredulously.

It was actually five o'clock in the morning, but her Master need not know that. "Yes," Jordin said, and then she switched off the link before Adriaan could reply. _Finally, _she thought. _That woman just doesn't know when to hang up, does she?_

_ "You're one to talk, Miss Chatterbox."_

_ I'm certainly not Miss Chatterbox anymore, _Jordin thought sadly, gazing at her pallid reflection on the computer screen. _We're all getting old and tired before our time. This war is killing us all. _Kan's haggard face came back to haunt her. Those clear gray eyes, once so full of ambition and light, seemed plagued by some gnawing feeling in his gut, eating the very hope in his soul. _Oh, Kan, what happened to you? _

She was exhausted, but she knew she would not sleep with those empty eyes plaguing her thoughts. She had to do something, anything, to relieve the pain reflected in Kan's gaunt face. The only thing she felt she could do now was to find that information he wanted. She suspected that it was the suspense, the lack of knowledge itself, that was eating him up inside.

She had already been to the Archives once, but only succeeded in securing a file on the Disciples of Ragnos. Sadly, there was surprisingly little information on the record that was of any interest to Jordin. She had gone over Adriaan's, Darc's and his Master's biographies, only to discover that the majority of the sections on their files were barred. Not even a document signed by Adriaan granted Jordin sanction to read the locked sections, unfortunately; the files only recognized the retina and midichlorian scan of a Council member. As for the bios of Haak and Ra'hal, they didn't exist…that is, they were erased, or embedded within someone else's file. Luckily, in her last communication with Kan he had divulged a name that could very well be the key to the entire hunt: the true name of Adriaan's Master, Jacen Palgwebb.

Jordin pulled out her list from within the secret compartment in her chrono. There were only a few names left on it to research, but she knew the task could very well take several hours to complete. The top name on the list, of course, was Jacen Palgwebb, but there were other files worth looking into as well: Padawans from Adriaan's youngling clan, the Colo Clawfish; Netari Ptosoy, the woman whom Adriaan had alleged to be her Master; and the Night Falcon, the self-exiled Jedi who had trained Klamin and Heatrian on Zylxx.

With trembling fingers, she typed in _Jacen Palgwebb_ and waited with bated breath for the file to upload.

_Document upload successful. _The screen chirped.

"Security clearance?" Jordin asked breathlessly.

There was a pause as the computer calculated. _Negative; this is a public document, which is accessible to any reader._

_ Wizard! _She couldn't believe her good luck. Thrilled, she eagerly opened the file and scanned it.

The profile picture was a mug shot of a dark man with a clean-shaven head and sharp, angled features. The biography showed that he hadn't been the tallest of human males – only about one and three-quarters of a meter in height, and about sixty-four kilograms in weight. He had died in twenty-three BBY – two years ago. The bio also affirmed that he had won the Taikaido Galactic Point Fighting Championship in the Welterweights division twice, and he had been a third-degree black belt in Taikaido. None of this information really interested Jordin – except for the fact that she knew that Adriaan was also a black belt in Taikaido – so she scrolled down further.

And then her red eyebrows drew together in a ludicrous frown. What she was looking at was the section in his biography concerning his Jedi Padawans – or Padawan, as it happened – and what she saw there dumbfounded her. The picture itself was unsurprising – the long, lean, blond girl with braces sparkling in her wide grin was clearly a happier, younger, uglier version of Jordin's Master – it was the name underneath that was discomfitingly baffling. Not trusting her eyes, she jabbed the name _Netari Ptosoy _onto the keyboard and waited half-impatiently, half-fearfully, for the file to upload.

_Upload successful._

"Security clearance?" she asked, her voice cracking as her heart clogged her throat.

_Public documents are accessible to all readers._

Netari Ptosoy was a Pantoran woman, who according to the biography was the first student of the Night Falcon. _Interesting, _the Padawan thought, scrolling down and recognizing another name. And…yes, Jacen Palgwebb had been the Night Falcon's _second _Padawan, apprenticed shortly after Ptosoy's Knighthood. Netari had been thin and slight, weighing only fifty kilos and standing at only one and a half meters in height. Her wavy, soft lavender hair was coiled into two braids which fell way past her hips, and her pale yellow eyes bore a soft, clement expression in the picture. According to the file, she had died the same year as Master Palgwebb. Jordin dragged her eyes from the sweet, gentle woman's face and scrolled down to the section about Netari's Apprentices.

Like Palgwebb, she had only had one, and the file attested that her Padawan had been Adriaan ell Talaan. "Oh, Force, it can't be," Jordin Skraps muttered, staring into the eyes of a familiar face.

Except the face wasn't Adriaan's.

It was a human girl, born in forty-eight BBY – a good ten years before Adriaan's birthdate, Jordin realized after a quick check on the calculator, because she no longer had the mental capacity to do even basic math in her head. Netari's only Apprentice had weighed fifty-seven kilos and had been only been one and three-fifths of a meter in height – while Adriaan was sixty-four kilograms and 1.7 meters in height. The girl had been about seventeen when the picture had been taken, but she did not have the eyes of a joyful woman in the blossom of her youth. She was pale and unsmiling, grave and wistful of face, her twilight hair loose and toppling in wavy cascades past her shoulders. Her lips were full and red, her cheekbones and forehead high, and her eyes were black and empty as space without stars.

She looked nothing like Jordin's Master, yet the file confirmed multiple times that the girl's name was Adriaan ell Talaan.

Even stranger was the fact that even though the woman in the file was not the Adriaan Jordin knew, something about the face and eyes reminded her of someone, someone whose name she no longer remembered. Marya? _No, silly, _she scolded herself, _Marya is tanned, short-haired, and ferocious-looking; nothing like the sad, wan young woman in the picture. I must be imagining a resemblance._

Disturbed, she switched to the previous file she had been examining and again gazed at the picture of the person whom she knew to be her Master, Adriaan ell Talaan. Again she frowned and rubbed her eyes at the name, which stated otherwise that she was really called – "Impossible," Jordin declared.

Kan would want to see this, she knew. Quickly, she typed out a command on the keyboard. _Request copying selected files to datachip._

The computer processed the request, then beeped in confirmation. _Permission granted. _Jordin inserted the datachip, and while the computer copied the files onto the disc, she quickly researched the other names on the list. She tried to concentrate on the words before her, but the discovery she had made in Netari's and Jacen's profiles had so disconcerted her that she could not focus. So those files, too, she copied onto the datachip after a brief perusal of their contents. In a few minutes, the transaction was completed, and Jordin closed all the windows, cleared the history on the computer drive, and stood up to leave.

_ Jango Fett swiveled his Westars at Kan's Master and fired…_

_ Blood, blood everywhere…in the dirt, in her eyes, in the sky, in her clothes, in her being, spilling, spilling…_

_ KA-BAM! Ships exploding, fire kicking up the red dirt and fogging up the amber sky with black smoke and yellow fangs. A white helmet charred and blackened from smoke rolled to a stop at her feet, the fragmented T-mask staring brokenly up at her. And she couldn't help but think, _what sort of man had he been, the man who had worn that helmet?

_The dirt and dust and ash cleared, and she screamed, for she was back in the pink-wall-papered room of her thoughts, the horrific pastel prison of her mind…_

And you will never escape this; never, never…

_Then she saw a sable man, veiled by a bulky black cloak, and kneeling at his feet was a broken figure – a girl, her golden hair disheveled, her clothes and skin torn, a wheel of fire burning away in her heart._

_ "Hand them over," he commanded her._

_ She opened not her mouth, but shook her head in reply. And clenching the earth till the knucklebones seemed to break through her skin, she stood, threw herself up, using her body to shield two forlorn figures who twin crimson beams of light at the phantom menace. The boy was unrecognizable; a child of about four, with a shock of light hair. And the other one…she was the woman Jordin beheld in Adriaan's place, the woman with the eyes like twilight, except now she, too, was a child, naked to evil._

_ "Hand them over, Jedi-witch!" _

_ Then she raised her head defiantly, and cast her hair back, and it was as if the sun had risen out of an eclipse. "If you want them, _you'll have to kill me._"_

"Apprentice Skraps?"

Jordin snapped back against her seat, aroused at the sound of the kindly librarian's voice. But even the concern in Madame Nu's tone and expression seemed to Jordin ferocious and full of suspicion. The girl stared at the kind, aged face, her heart hammering in terror. Had Jocasta seen what she had been researching? _If she had, surely she would think nothing of it, _she thought nervously, _after all Adriaan _is _my Master; I am breaking no laws by looking at public documents._

Jocasta did not appear to realize what Jordin had been looking at – either that, or her concern for the girl overrode any interest she might have had in what the Padawan had been researching. It took all the Padawan's strength not to sigh audibly in relief when the librarian, satisfied that all was well with the invalid, left the room in a bustle of skirts.

Jordin fell back against her chair and cast her eyes upward in a silent prayer of thanks. But even as she let out the pent-up breath she had been holding, the anxious knot in her gut tightened. She inhaled sharply and clutched the precious datachip tightly in her fist, resolving that she would not shrink from retribution, but accept any consequences that would result from assisting in Kan's deceit.

* * *

CT-1374 took a rag and swabbed the smear of grease his fingers had accidentally rubbed onto the T-mask of the generic GAR helmet he had spent a good part of the morning adjusting to fit the head of a person much smaller than a clone soldier. He spun the helmet in his hand like a bolo-ball, examining his work. Finding no flaw in the mask, he set it on top of the stack of white armor plates by his feet. He would need to get a special paint to give the armor a special pop of color, for the person it would serve would greatly dislike wearing classic clone trooper skeleton-white.

_Maybe a dark gold paint, _CT-1374 thought, thinking of the person to whom he would present it to as a going-away gift, _or even a green to coordinate my camo armor. _His chest ballooned with pride as he looked at the set of armor he had produced, imagining the look of delight on the receiver's face when he would present it to her the next morning, just before she would be consigned to the GAR Academy on Carida. As for himself and his charge, he expected they would be discharged for active duty within days, so he had prepared all the going-away gifts for the friends he would be leaving behind on Triple Zero. An outbreak in the Mid-Rim had sent Captain Rex and Torrent Company back to the front line days ago, so Rez had already given them their parting gift: a round of drinks at one of the local dives the ELF scout had become acquainted with during his stay at the Republic Capital. The pot of Eclipse lilies – native plants to the planet Hohepäe, the black blossoms fringed with a corona of yellow petals were known for their resilience and subtle fragrance – Rez had purchased from a street vendor that morning he was going to deliver to the Temple later in the afternoon, when he was scheduled to pick Jordin up from the Archives. The soldier had bought something else that morning with the last of his pocket money, too, and he smiled as his fingers grazed the gift hidden in his breast pocket.

"A new set of armor already?" A soft, low voice said from behind.

The hairs on the back of the soldier's neck prickled at the unexpected sound. _How in fierfek did she manage to sneak up on me like that? _The clone had long ago become accustomed to Adriaan seemingly appearing out of thin air, but none of her Padawans had yet tread softly enough not to be detected by his superhuman senses. Fighting down his chagrin for being caught off-guard, he turned and crushed the frail sylph in a bear hug, giving her a brotherly grin as she tilted her face up to smile gravely at him.

"Jordin, since when have I needed armor plates shaped like these?" he asked, holding up the concave breastplates.

The girls' cheeks reddened. "Oh, dear," she stammered, lowering her eyes. "I am sorry; I did not see those. Besides, now that you point it out, I see now that this armor is meant to accommodate a person quite a bit smaller than you."

Rez was thrilled; it was the longest string of sentences Jordin had uttered aloud since her injury. "Glad to see the old Jordin's back," he remarked lightly, ruffling her cropped hair roughly. Privately, though, he conceded there was something he liked more in the serious, mature Jordin.

But she shook her head. "I fear you must be disappointed, for the old Jordin can never come back."

"Oh, buck up; of course you'll recover!" the trooper hastened to assure her, fiercely squeezing her against him. "Why are you so certain you will never go back to normal?"

"Even if things _did_ 'go back to normal' – which by that I assume you mean I regain my physical and mental faculties – the fact remains that my head was nearly blown off, the fact that without you and Eris I would have surely died," she said gravely, yet without sadness. "Psychologically, I have recovered from the trauma, but recovery is distinguished from actually forgetting the experience. I remember Adriaan used to tell us this whenever we asked her why she did not speak of her past: '_Ka'trasu trattor gotal'u mun werda' – _she explained that it is a Goba Shag proverb which is translated as 'The setting sun casts long shadows' It means your past can darken your future, and the memory of being trapped in a comatose state is indeed a long shadow in my heart, Rez."

The boy lowered his eyes. "Of course," he said quietly. "But that does not mean you must be so serious all the time." He raised his head, suddenly bold. "I haven't heard your beautiful laugh in ages."

A deep blush colored her sickly cheeks. "Oh, of course I will laugh again, if the mood takes me," she said, rather hurriedly quenching her blooming complexion. "It will not be as often as before, for the things which used to delight me I now find insipid. I feel like – and no, do not contradict me, for my feelings are my own – that I died in that accident, and yet here I am, born again."

The clone nodded, his heart cleaving to hers in understanding. "I can explain your feelings, I think," he said gently. "The little caterpillar grew into a butterfly."

"A very grey, dull, vapid little butterfly," Jordin said with a wry smile. Rez opened his mouth to reply, but he observed her gaze dart quickly around his apartment as she searched almost desperately for a means to change the subject, which had become increasingly awkward for them both. Almost immediately, her eyes pounced on the brightest focus in the room – the Eclipse lilies. "Oh, I did not know you loved to grow flowers!" she said, shambling forward to admire the spectacular blooms.

_Her gait is more consistent now, _he observed to himself. Aloud he replied, "Not really; I bought those for Eris Akura, in thanks for her invaluable compassion and friendship."

"I am sure she will love these," the girl murmured, her fingers hovering over a lily, as if half in fear the flower would shatter at her touch. Her back to him, she spoke to him telepathically. _"We are leaving soon, aren't we."_

It was a statement, worded as a question. Speaking to her with his thoughts, which only she could hear without the aid of his voice, he answered, _Yes._

"Can we leave tomorrow morning then?" she asked with her mouth.

Rez was surprised at her eagerness to depart. _Maybe she's as sick of this inactivity as I am. Perhaps I have underestimated her after all. _"If you like," he said, deciding to leave the decision up to her. She best knew her own limits, after all, and the clone knew that the girl was not prone to overexerting herself.

"That is good; I finished my work this morning," Jordin said with a sudden briskness. "You will need to deliver your present to Eris today, though, because you will want to give Synta her armor when she leaves tomorrow morning."

The girl anticipated his moves with an uncanny accuracy. The soldier gulped, then realized he wasn't as vulnerable to her as he had first thought, for she still had no idea what was concealed in his breast pocket.

"Speaking of armor," he said, stepping to her, "I was going to ask your advice on the coloring and insignia. I was thinking she would like a dark metallic gold…"

"Oh, she will love that!" Jordin said enthusiastically. "Better yet, paint an Eclipse blossom on the helmet and shoulder pads. The symbol is appropriate, as Eclipse lilies are a sign of determination and resilience."

"That is an excellent idea!" Rez enthused. "But if I am going to paint the Eclipse lilies, maybe we'd better go with green as a base paint. Maybe something to match _these…" _Suddenly he withdrew a pair of sparkling, luminous, large, long, dangly, gorgeous emerald earrings gilded with rose-red gold.

The Jedi student gasped at the simple, elegant beauty of the jewelry which swung before her eyes, fairly dazzling her in their unusual brilliance. She could guess by the luster and hue of the stones that they had probably been hard for the clone to obtain, and her assumption was not far from the truth; Rez had practically scoured three levels of the upper-class districts, and visited approximately three dozen jewelry shops, before he had found the perfect gift for the little Padawan, who had become his best friend over the course of their time on Coruscant. It was the least he could do, he thought, for someone who was so kind and so selflessly loving towards him, who had hardly experienced any sort of affection from anyone other than Adriaan and his fellow soldiers, who were more family than anything else to him. Brotherly love bordered on violence; Adriaan's maternal affection was also somewhat gruff and rough around the edges, so he had never experienced the sweet, quiet intimacy that came from a little sister.

"Oh, Rez, you shouldn't have –" Jordin began, but the soldier firmly pressed them into her hand.

"Yes, I should have. It was about time you had something pretty of your own, something to make those gorgeous eyes sparkle again," he said with a vehemence that astonished even himself. Jordin, scarcely believing that the glittering things she held in her palm were truly her own, could only stare at the earrings in stupefied silence. It was understandable – the earrings were probably the most outrageously glamorous items the child had ever owned, and there was a remote possibility that they might even be scandalous for a Jedi to wear.

Iniquitous or not, Jordin meekly submitted to having the clone put them in her ears. When they were secured, he held up a hand mirror for her to take a look.

She gasped, her hands going up to her ears. The transformation was incredible, noticeable even to the normally unselfconscious Jordin. A rosy blush flushed youth back into her face, and her eyes reignited with the old passion-green fire. Even her hair seemed to glow with an added luster. Her lips parted, but did not quite threaten to turn up at the corners.

"I – I am not sure I deserve these…" she murmured, perfectly sober.

"Nonsense!" Rez said, fed up with her lack of facial expression. "Jordin, if you _dare _refuse this present, I shall never forgive you; I'll have you know I spent several hours trying to procure those, and I spent the last bit of my allowance to purchase them too. The store I bought it from has no return policy, so if you will not accept them, what in the Seven Hells am I supposed to do with them? Synta can't wear dangly earrings in the Academy, and I would certainly look dorky with those ridiculous things in my ears. So you might as well take them and shut up." His voice was rough, but only because the raggedness of his emotions made his voice harsher to disguise how he really felt.

But Jordin knew this; the child didn't laugh, but a smile just as beautiful as her giggle washed away the gravity from her expression, and cleared the storm which had begun to darken the clone's brow. "Oh, thank you, Rez!" she breathed, and then she flung her arms around him in a grateful embrace.

Rez would have preferred a squeal of delight over the polite expression of a verbal "thank you", but he was satisfied with the return of her sunny grin and reciprocated her hug all the same.


	4. Chapter 3: Two Minds, One Dream

**_Su'cuy! _Thanks to all my fans for their continued interest in the _Galactic War _books! As usual, comments are welcomed and greatly appreciated. Luckily I've been on kind of a writing sprint for the past few weeks so I've gotten a ton of chapters written; now I'm just proofreading (ugh :-P) Anyway, this chapter develops a theme I'm exploring with the twins. Hope you guys like!**

**Note: the chapter title was inspired by the Chinese saying: _"Same bed, different dreams" _[In case you haven't noticed I really like to incorporate Asian concepts (such as martial arts, proverbs) into my stories] The opening quote is kind of a clarification that the Kenobi twins are not directly related to Obi-Wan, as Aedan mistakenly believes. The story behind their last name will be explored later in _Syzygy._**

**The section in the dream where Aedan relives the memory of playing tag with his sister is previously glimpsed in the beginning of chapter 12, book 3 (_The Front Line_), but up until this point that little fragment was the only part in the entire series that has even alluded to the fact that the twins' back story is relevant to the fundamental plot in _Galactic War. _**

**Mando'a words: **

_**Osik – **_**B****asically translated as "Oh, crap!" a term for excrement.**

_**Shab – **_**An extremely harsh curse.**

_**Shabla – **_**Translated as "screwed up"**

**_Chakaar – _Generic insult; basically it means "lowlife" or "scum"**

**Disclaimer: I did not create_ Star Wars _or Mando'a; George Lucas gets all the credit for creating the former, Karen Traviss is credited for developing the latter. The plurality of characters, and some of the planets and species shown in _Galactic War, _are of my own creation.**

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* * *

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Chapter 3

_"No, Aedan and Andora are not in any way related to the famous Obi-Wan Kenobi…at least, not that I know of. Aedan only likes to say that Obi-Wan is his brother because it makes him feel important to be related to a Jedi Master. As if there is any resemblance between Obi-Wan and Aedan!" – _Adriaan ell Talaan, to the members of the Varactyl Clan.

✶ the Fortitude, 0200, 407 days ABG ✶

_Where am I?_

_ "Aedan_."

_Shut up, GOOD, I'm trying to dream about killing GOOD females and eating their brains…oops, I forgot that girls don't have brains. Maybe I'll dream about zombie babies or the day when I fulfill my destiny becoming the ruler of my WICKED empire by enslaving hot chick robots who will seduce the population to bow before me…_

_ "_Aedan._"_

_ "You'll pay for this, ell Talaan!" Grievous, the evil cyborg General of the CIS army, yelled as Adriaan swiped off his legs with a cavalier deftness and sent the droid parts plummeting to oblivion. "Someday, you and your little brats will die miserably for this outrage!"_

_ "We're not her brats!" Aedan said indignantly. "My name is Aedan, though my real name is WICKED WICKED TRULY WICKED AEDAN KENOBI WICKED KING OF WICKED OF WICKEDS, and you'd better not forget it!"_

_ Grievous wasn't listening; he and Adriaan were in a staring contest, glaring at each other murderously. "I suppose you don't remember me, do you, Adriaan?" Grievous said softly._

_ "I do, Qymaen jai Sheelal, Hero of Kalee," she answered quietly. _

_ Then she Force-pushed Aedan and his sister off the edge, let go of the antenna and jumped off the CIS station after them._

_ "W-W-W-I-I-I-C-C-C-K-K-K-E-E-E-D-D-D!"_

_ Aedan lost his stomach as he nosedived for the ground, the wind rippling the skin on his face. It was an uncontrolled drop, his body flipping over and over through space. He had never felt so helpless, so utterly GOOD and weak and alone…but then he sensed his sister, flipping wildly somewhere in Aedan's vicinity of the infinite space. And he also sensed the stupid blond Jedi, Adriaan, who seemed bizarrely stable and fixed in one place as she followed the twins' plummet to their doom. He called out to her through the Force, asking her what to do. The jump they had made had been pure suicide; not even a Jedi could land without splattering all over the duracrete like a bag of womp rat guts._

_ He felt his Master's return call as she struggled to locate him in the blinding vacuity of the air. He answered with a surge of the Force, and then felt strong, long fingers digging into the bone of his ankle as his Master caught him in midair. He immediately curled over and joined his sister, clinging to the woman with all their strength. And somehow, with his head pressed against Adriaan's chest, her adrenaline-energized heart hammering hard and fast against his eardrums, Aedan knew that everything was going to be all right, that she had them…_

_ And then he realized it – he would certainly never admit it to _her, _a female – he always felt safest with Adriaan at his side. If ever he needed a teammate, he would choose one of his WICKED cohorts, but that was only because his pride prevented him sometimes from following his gut instinct, which told him deep down that he could only trust Adriaan and his sister to watch his back. His almost-filial trust in the reticent Jedi was inexplicable; he honestly did not understand it, why the word "mother" always brought her tragic young face to mind. He knew she was not his real female progenitor; oh, he remembered his true mother's face quite well, actually, but Adriaan…Adriaan had done more for him, had loved him more than his biological parents had._

_ Hiding his face against Adriaan was an intrinsic instinct, the product of memories he had thought had faded – fallen away like his baby teeth – for they were so old, so long ago…_

_ A sharp face, hidden by a dark cowl, through which amber eyes gleamed forth, like stars in the night. "Adriaan, they have no one left for them; you must be their mother now. Swear to me, vow that no matter what happens from this moment on, you are going to spend the rest of your life protecting and guiding them as if they were your own children."_

_ "I promise! I'll do anything!" A young, low voice fraught with grief pierced the stillness. "Anything, just to make sure you'll be safe." He was silent, and that made her falter. "You _will_ come back, won't you?"_

_ "_Their _safety is your only concern now," he said heavily._

_ "No, please, you have to realize that even I have a limit, that my life without you would be like a planet without a sun –"_

_ She was suddenly cut off by the rough, passionate, encompassing embrace of the man. The woman clung to him fiercely, her chest heaving with a great, hiccuping sob as she bit back tears inappropriate for a warrior to shed. As some great effort of will tore the couple apart, Aedan felt himself pressed into the trembling arms of the teenage girl, who already clutched his sister tight to her breast._

_ "Goodbye, Adriaan," the man said sadly, and then he was gone, falling into the darkness of the pit at the woman's feet, and Aedan never saw the man again, never…after that he only remembered a terrible purplish, crackling, flashing light blinding him, burning him, eating him alive, tearing mature screams from his infant body, breaking his eardrums and heart with the agonized wails of his baby twin sister…_

_ The blue and white snakes raced over his body again as the memory rose, biting and blinding him, yanking his bones out of the sockets, burning muscle tissue and shredding nerves and shrinking his brain and sending him writhing, raving, rolling into that black cesspit…_

Wwwwwwiiiiiicccccc…_he tried to scream one last defiant "wicked" before he died, but the lightning had fried his voice. His hair hissed and curled and blackened in the heat; his eyes began to melt from the blinding roar of the blue fire…_

_ "Stop!" the girl said, and then he saw a lithe figure crouching in front of him, her normally soft face hardened in a feral snarl, her perfect teeth glittering savagely, popping out from the red of her full lips. Her blue eyes had decayed into a poisonous green lit with the yellow fire of a hunter, and the veins burst from the rigid muscles in her arms and legs and back. "I vowed that my life and death is their haven and shield; if you come closer,_ I'll kill you_."_

_ His thoughts faded back, rewound, to the first moments of that fateful day. _

_ "Tag, you're it!" Andora laughed, tapping him on the back._

_ "I'm going to get you! I am an evil rancor, and I'm going to catch you and eat you for dinner!" he yelled as he chased her around the courtyard. The breeze blew lightly through his blond hair, refreshing him and drying the sweat from the back of his neck._

_ Her hair fanned out behind her in a long stream – dark brown as the rich earth underneath their feet…_

_ Then he saw his mother walking toward them…_

_ The blue serpents zipped toward him, poison snapping from their dragon-like mouths…_

_ "I said_ stay away!"

_His protector's hands shot out in front of her, long fingers extended to their full length, and he screamed and buried his head in his hands as her fingertips absorbed the electricity and shot it right back at his mother, whose blue eyes and red cheeks were so often stained with starry tears, and were now sparking and snapping with a red-yellow miasma of madness…_

_ The floor dissipated, and his gaze fell, _he_ fell, fell down into the space the floor opened up to reveal. The space had not the comforting, warm closeness of darkness or twilight, but an essence of bare, clean, pitiless white…not just white, but the very absence of _color. _The light was bright to blinding point, too cruel to soothe the eye with even the smallest, softest of shadows to flatter the hard shape of the slab-like bed that stood with military-like formality and austereness in the precise center of the colorless, flat landscape. _

_ He had always hated white. It hurt his eyes, with its overbearing purity; its arrogant, boastful chastity. Yet how easily white was stained, how weak and vulnerable it was despite its ascetic starkness. Black was a better symbol for cleanliness, he thought, for it did not stain so easily, but endured. Purity was a strong virtue, so logically it should be characterized by a strong color, not something so wan and fickle as white. White was the color of hospital rooms, white made every space look bigger than it was – and Aedan had nosocomephobia as well as a fear of big, open spaces. So white was the symbol of all that was terrifying to him, all that had the power to reduce him to a quivering, whimpering, gelatinous pulp of emotions._

_ So he was glad to see the inky stain spreading across the piercingly immaculate sheets of the bed, glad to see some relief of color in the unforgiving whiteness. The color was raven moisturized with a silver rain, and spread out like a dark corona from an oval sun, whose face was hideously pallid from long illness and an interminable separation from sunlight. As he watched, twin, parallel sunspots appeared on the star's surface, and then the head and shoulders rose. Pale, thin feet slid out of the whiteness and hit the equally unpigmented pavement with a dull _slap, _the characteristic sound of naked skin hitting stone. The woman rose from her cot and began to pace what turned out to be a very confined space, back and forth, three steps to the right, pivot, three paces backtracking. Her head was downcast, her eyes observing the floor, her neck bent wearily, as if she wished for peace but could find none in the restlessness of her heart. Her graying hair fell about her face like a mourner's veil, flowing down past her shoulders and hips till it swept across the floor like a paintbrush across an empty canvass. She was clothed in that nasty colorless hue, making her frail, thin form blend into the infinite constraint of the room. As she paced up and down her prison, his heart filled with an emotion he had never experienced, and the pure tears of pity fell unchecked from his normally cold blue eyes. A glistening teardrop fell across the picture of the hospital-prison, momentarily distorting the image, as if the drop had hit the glassy surface of a still lagoon. _

_ The motion seemed to have made some sound that alerted the prisoner, for as the vision cleared she looked up, and Aedan suddenly found himself confronting her eyes, which were a ghostly, soulless white, devoid of any ambition, dreams, or hope. The very absence of color revealed the deficiency of any desire to live, of the woman's goals and dreams which had been utterly and finally crushed by cold reality. But even as he returned her gaze and so glimpsed the colorlessness of her very soul, a faint spark of light briefly ignited the woman's eyes, and her chalky lips cracked open, splitting the skin of her lips, which had dried up from long disuse, and releasing a flow of bright red blood as she murmured, _"Aedan."

_Mother._

His eyes snapped open and faced the dull grey of the dying hours before dawn. His spine tensed and straightened, and he sat bolt upright in bed, the image of those horribly empty albino eyes branded in his mind. He closed his eyes and sat cross-legged on his bunk for a moment, tuning in to the soft, even breathing of his companions to help him relax. After several minutes, his heart-rate had slowed and his muscles had mostly relaxed, but the vision remained just as bright and untarnished as it had been before.

"Oh, stop being such a GOOD," he whispered to himself. "Go back to sleep and forget all about it."

Taking his own advice, he lay back down, but for some reason, he lost command of his eyelids, which refused to close for more than a few seconds. He glowered angrily up at the bunk above him for several minutes, his arms folded across his chest and his will steeled to force himself to sleep. Suddenly, the breathing of his teammates in the room seemed to be as loud as a podrace, and he fancied he could even hear his companions' eyes rapidly flutter in their sockets as they dreamed about imploding buildings, screaming females, and all-you-can-eat Nubian buffets. At last, he could stand the obnoxious silence no longer; with an irritated grunt, he tucked his knees into his chest and kicked the bunk above him as hard as he could, churlishly jolting the occupant awake.

"Ow! What's the big deal, GOOD?" Andre's disembodied voice floated angrily from above.

"What do you _think_ the GOOD old deal is?" Aedan demanded loudly, causing the other occupants in the room to shift uneasily in their sleep. Luckily, they were all used to Aedan's random fits in the middle of the night, so they had all learned to sleep like the dead.

"Well, if you really must WICKEDLY know, it was Nic who put that bantha-pie into your chili the last night," Andre murmured sleepily.

"I knew that, you GOOD!" Aedan snapped, filing that tasty bit of intelligence away in his brain. _I'll have to rub his bunk with some Oavi oil before tomorrow night. _He grinned at the thought of how his revenge would be thus sweetly accomplished; the oil was extracted from the Oavi vine, a plant which caused an awful, blistering, itchy rash to erupt across every centimeter of skin that rubbed against it. With the extract rubbed all over his bunk, Nic was sure to accumulate one WICKED rash. Aedan rubbed his hands with glee, but checked as the colorless eyes again pierced his brain. _Ugh, you GOOD, stop staring at me! _He glared and pummeled the bunk above him again.

"What!" Andre shouted. This time Jahn Pal tossed his pillow over his head, muffling his unintelligible, half-asleep grumbling.

"You were in the midst of a confession," Aedan prompted.

"Confession, Huttspit!" Andre retorted contemptuously. "I have nothing else to GOODLY report, so if you don't mind, I'll wish you a GOOD _night!_" He turned over onto his side, and a few minutes later Aedan was disappointed to hear the soft snoring of his companion as he swiftly dropped off to sleep.

_"_Their _safety is your only concern now."_

_ "I vowed that my life and death is their haven and shield; if you come closer, _I'll kill you._"_

He shot upright and slid out of bed, pulling on an outer robe as he cautiously pushed the door to his room open and stepped out into the dimly lit hall. Wide-eyed and alert, he strode silently and purposefully towards his Master's quarters, which were situated just a few rooms down. She had always insisted sharing the same barracks as her inferiors; she had no desire to inhabit the officers' quarters. She had always emphasized that even though she was the designated leader and instructor, in domestic matters she was on equal footing with her subordinates. Aedan had to admire her humility, but he knew that if he was in her place, he would take full advantage of the benefits offered to those of his prestigious rank.

Another one of her policies was that her "office" hours were unlimited; she did her best to make herself available to her students and soldiers at all times, even at 0200 in the morning. Aedan had never seriously taken advantage of her inexhaustible service – of course, he had tested her patience by waking her up in the deadest hours of the night for the most utterly ludicrous reasons, such as asking if she supposed his hair was dirty blond or brown, or if Hutts truly were hermaphrodites – and though she had swiftly chased him out of her presence, she dismissed him only after she had wearily yet with forced politeness answered his pointless and inconsequential questions. But now he sought her counsel in earnest, and he sincerely hoped that she would not remember his past visits and so deny him an audience because she assumed he came only with another paltry question.

Therefore, his knock lacked the forcefulness and authority he normally exhibited, instead coming off as rather timid and hesitant. He shivered a little in the dark hall, his ears straining to catch any sound coming from the other side of the door.

"Do synonymous rationales draw us thither to solicit the counsel of our tutor, womb mate?" a low voice murmured in his ear. Aedan leaped, and whirled to confront the moonlike face of his sister, who stood close by his side.

"What the GOOD are you doing here?" he stuttered in a hoarse whisper.

"Did I not make an identical query, albeit dictated more cordially?" she answered.

Aedan was about to retort with a characteristic, WICKEDLY rude response, when the door hissed open, and new, older voice entered the conversation. "Well, these are two faces I did not expect to see this time of the night. Well, not _your_ face, Andora," Adriaan amended, the glowlamp she held revealing her wry facial expression as she glanced at Aedan. "You are too solicitous to disturb me during the more inconvenient hours." The boy shifted uncomfortably, remembering how he had so sedulously abused her generous succor so many times before.

"Master ell Talaan," he said, calling her by her formal title and omitting all "wickeds" from his speech to insinuate his grave mood, "I come to you this time in dead earthiness."

Adriaan covered her mouth to stifle her snorting laugh, while Andora corrected dryly, "I ween you connoted 'earnest' – earthiness can be rendered as a boorish and bawdy mien."

"I apologize; I was not aware," Aedan said meekly, pushing down the hot retort that rose to his lips. His greatest pet peeve was being criticized by the self-righteous Andora, who was so virtuous she was almost sinful.

"'Apologize' – I think that's the first word longer than two syllables I've ever heard you say," Adriaan said, her hard gaze relenting. She stepped away from the door, beckoning them in. "I sensed both of your uneasiness, anyhow, so there is no need to explain. Please, come in."

"The 'Book', too?" Aedan asked, a bit unwilling to confess his dream in front of his excessively judgmental sister.

The woman paused. "That is, if you do not mind. If it is a private matter, Aedan, you will have to wait; ladies' first and all that _osik_, you know."

"It is of no consequence to me, as long as Aedan pledges not to reiterate what he has heard within the margins of your quarters," Andora said gravely.

Aedan, not much liking the idea of being left in that dark hall all alone, compromised. "I agree, as long as the GOOD old Book…I mean _Andora_ makes the same promise."

His sister solemnly nodded her consent, and the two entered the room in tandem.

The Jedi sat cross-legged on the floor and motioned for the two to imitate her position. There wasn't much by way of furniture – just a round meditation seat and a mat on the floor for a bed, but Andora seemed at home in the austere surroundings, settling down without complaint on the mat, facing Adriaan with a pensive face and stiff spine. Aedan rolled his eyes at his sister's properness and threw himself on the chair, slouching in a sloppy Jedi meditation pose.

Luckily for him, Adriaan never cared for correct posture outside military formation; she only had excellent posture because her Master had drilled it into her until it had become connate to sit up straight. Using the Force, she levitated a bottle and a few stacked mugs perched on her work-desk and brought them to her hand. Twisting the cap off, she swirled the contents of the bottle so the twins could hear the bubbly _fizz _of the fruity, carbonated drink. "Fizzade? Or I have tea and caf in some emergency thermoses on the desk," she said invitingly.

Aedan licked his dry lips, suddenly realizing he was parched. "I'll have some WICKED…I mean fizzade," he said gratefully. She poured him a glass, then looked questioningly at his companion.

"Andora, if you refuse, I swear I'll write a report that you were given sick leave on account of a sore throat, and then leave you on board this ship while the rest of us continue the mission without your…_invaluable_ assistance," Adriaan said, when she saw that Andora's mouth was in the stages of forming an inordinately polite version of "no, thank you".

"But I do not have an inflamed pharynx, mentor," Andora protested, shocked at her Master's proposal.

"But you will, if you do not drink something; you look dryer than the sands of Tattooine," her teacher said.

"Tea, then, prithee," Andora said stiffly, and this time the officer got up and poured the child a mug of the steaming hot beverage. Then she returned to her seat on the floor, nursing the cup of caf she had prepared for herself. Aedan, slurping away at his soda, had to resist the urge to belch, and thus spoil Adriaan's good temper. He found that his Master's unexpected warmth of reception had relaxed him, and helped calm his nerves, so he now felt completely at ease. Even Andora, clenching her teacup almost defensively, seemed a little more lax in her posture. The warm drink had toppled her defenses, unmasking her weariness as she slightly hunched over in her seat.

"Now, then," ell Talaan said, removing the caf from her lips, "who wants to talk first?"

Andora immediately stiffened; Aedan took another swig of his fizzade, trying to disguise his unease as the dream awoke refreshed in his memory. The twins looked at each other, then the boy – who always liked to be first – opened his mouth and said:

"I've been having these dreams –"

Aedan stopped, for it was not his own voice that he was hearing. He turned to glare at his sister, whose eyes had swiveled to gawk at him with an equal amount of astonishment. Never before had the same words in the same sequence uttered at the same moment had ever been known to come from their mouths, and now that it had happened they were stunned into silence. If they had been any less shocked, one of them might have observed that the mild look of surprised amusement only flashed for an instant across Adriaan's features, quickly replaced by a shadow of sadness and internal pain which darkened her countenance and lent a new gravity in the way her sharp eyes observed them. It was the heavy sigh that escaped from the very depths of her heart which brought the twins crashing back into real time.

"So, you have been having…dreams," she said slowly, in a deep, serious tone as her eyes – which had darkened to a weird teal color – flicked from one face to the other. "That is typical, for everyone has dreams."

"But these ones are so tangible," Andora said emphatically.

"And I keep dreaming about the same thing; it's always about mom," Aedan added, finishing the thought that his sibling had begun.

His sister turned to him, her eyes communicating the unspoken question, _"You, too?"_

So they both had dreams of their mother.

Their Master was silent, her gaze prompting them to speak. "Well, go on," she said, clasping her hands around her caf mug. "Tell me."

And they told her; Andora began, giving a detailed, factual account, so accurately portraying the dream she shared with her brother that her Master began to suspect that her memory was eidetic, and Aedan constantly interrupted her narration, adding the emotions and mental sufferings he had experienced in the vision, and little did either of them know, but the description of the dreamer's sensations struck home with Adriaan more than Andora's precise account did. When it was all told, the twins joined the Jedi's taciturnity, breathlessly anticipating her reaction.

At first she said nothing; she had shut her eyes after Aedan's first interruption – which had been only to elaborate on the grotesque expression on Adriaan's face as she had stood between them and their attacker – but the twins had both assumed that had been out of mild annoyance. However, she had remained in that state until the conclusion of their report. As they breathed in the silence, they suddenly became aware of the radiating ball of Force energy, coming directly from the Jedi sitting before them. Even Andora could not fully fathom the power and energy a Jedi could acquire through meditation, and it awed them to see their own tutor in such a state of equilibrium of raw power.

And then, suddenly, her eyes were opened, and she breathed – was it for the first time in several minutes? They could not tell. "How long have you been having these _visions?_" the blond asked, putting emphasis on the last word, as if to spotlight the sobriety of the situation.

_So this _is _WICKEDLY_ _serious, _Aedan thought, for even he knew that visions were regarded with reverence and respect in the Jedi Order.

"Well, I haven't been fantasizing the terminal scene until about a few months heretofore," Andora said thoughtfully. "I've had homologous apparitions anteriorly…but less periodically, and undeniably not as graphically exigent as the ones I have been subjected to for the past several weeks."

Adriaan looked at Aedan. "Has it been the same for you?"

The youth nodded in assent. "I've dreamed of the lightning and playing tag…for as long as I can WICKEDLY remember," he said.

"Is there any variance in the dreams? Or is each vision a clone of the other?" she persisted.

"They are reasonably analogous – intermittently the scenes are out of concatenation," his sibling answered after some thought.

"Minir and Terry and Na'thin and Kien are in _mine, _sometimes," Aedan said.

Adriaan nodded, as if she had been expecting that. "We often dream of the past – mostly traumatic events, I'm afraid. Our dreams are also a medium in which the present and possible futures – or futures if the past had been different, et cetera – are shown to us. The Force only amplifies the potency and depth of dreams, and depending on the content of your visions, this can be a mixed blessing. Know that you are not the only ones who suffer." She paused. "You know, for the past two years I've had the same dream every night – some nights it is the only dream I have, others it precedes or follows another, or several. But I can always expect it to be there. If it is a warning, it is this: do not repeat your mistakes."

"But what does it mean? That woman, does she need my WICKED help?" Aedan asked.

The Jedi looked him right in the eye. "Aedan, I do not know; that is something you must determine on your own. Take care, for by interfering you may do more harm than good."

"And until then, I must suffer," Aedan said miserably.

"No, not entirely," the Knight said. "Think. Meditate. Divert your mind with your training and studies. Talking about it with someone certainly helps. If you are uncomfortable confiding in me, you are welcome to talk to anyone else about it." She halted.

"Master?" Andora said, her brow darkened in a puzzled frown. "I deem you to be trepidatious. Is there something concerning our dreams that explicitly agitates you?"

"Yes," Adriaan replied, then immediately checked herself, "I mean, no, there is not anything that particularly distresses me, Padawan. It only makes me remember things, and wonder…Aedan and Andora, do you know how long I have known you two?" she asked suddenly.

"No," Aedan said, baffled at Adriaan's abrupt going off on a tangent, but nonetheless interested to hear the answer. For as long as he could remember, Adriaan had always been a cardinal factor in his life. "Why, GOO – I mean Master?"

"I was the one who brought you two to the Jedi Temple," the warrior announced solemnly.

"Oh." Andora colored for a moment, taken aback at this precipitous enlightenment. "Thank you," she said, for lack of a better reply.

Aedan reacted less genially. "Huttspit!" he said. "That's a load of bantha-pies!"

"Aedan!" Andora scolded, inhaling to prepare a launch of one of her infamous tirades.

"How long?" Adriaan asked, ignoring the boy's outburst and the girl's impending sermon. "How far back do you remember me?"

"_I vowed that my life and death is their haven and shield; if you come closer, _I'll kill you."

"I remember…one of the first things you ever said, was to a man who held me," the Wicked King said finally.

Something in her expression changed, became more wild and urgent. She stood up suddenly, leaned forward and looked into his face. "And?" she asked breathlessly, the yellow light returning to her irises. "What did I say?"

"You said, you said that your life –" Aedan faltered.

"– That your life and death was our haven and shield," Andora finished.

The Jedi inhaled sharply, and she whirled quickly away as something glassy fell from her eye – a tear? No, for Adriaan rarely cried. Then she turned back, and with a strange calmness asked if there was anything else she could do for them. Overwhelmed at the raggedness of their Master's scarcely concealed emotions, the twins said no and thanked her, going gratefully off to their beds. They were troubled no more that night by any nightmare, but when Adriaan finally went back to bed she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

She arose at dawn after a fitful night, plagued with both the recurring dreams of her Master and memories of her old friends long dead. She rolled out of bed and shuffled off to the barracks refresher, stripping off her underclothes and throwing them in the laundry bin as she stepped into a freezing cold shower. Growling a mixture of Huttese, Bocce, Mando'a, and Mando Shag profanities through gritted teeth as the gelid fluid mercilessly cascaded in torrents down her naked back, she rubbed the shampoo and conditioner roughly into her hair and brutally scrubbed every inch of her skin with an abrasive, soap-infused cloth. Her very toes curling away from the nearly frozen water, she stood under the cruel onslaught of iciness and shivered herself into alertness. She hadn't experienced the relaxation of a nice, hot shower in years; her Master had given her a lecture on the countless benefits of a cold shower, leading her to believe that bathing in freezing water _improved _physical endurance, toughening her up to fierce elements. Adriaan still hadn't noticed any significant upgrading in stamina, but the proclivity had stuck with her nonetheless.

_Her breath blew from her lungs like smoke, and her blue-tipped fingers withdrew into her flimsy sleeves as she curled up into a ball on the hard, cold snow and shivered uncontrollably. _It is impossible, this cold…it cannot be real, _she thought, crying out in pain as her feet and hands began to throb. _

_ "Adriaan, we have to keep moving," the cloaked, palpitating figure said, leaning wearily on his hands and knees. With a grunt, she tried to force herself on her feet by pushing against the snow with her palms, but her muscles refused to obey her. She couldn't feel her hands; they were too numb. Did she even _have_ hands anymore? She fell back, etiolated, against the snow._

_ "Adriaan?" Jacen asked, his sonorous voice cracking from cold and concern for his Padawan._

_ Her stiff, frozen lips tore open to speak, but all she could do was croak hoarsely, "Huh."_

_ The snow was so blindingly white, so white…she closed her eyes to shut out the blizzard. She pressed her head against her knees, hardly feeling her nose being shoved into her kneecap. Her numb ears dully alerted her of the _crunch, crunch, _of something being dragged across the snow, but she didn't care if it was dangerous or not. She just wanted to get out of the damn cold. _

_ And then she felt warmth; beautiful, heavenly, surreal, priceless heat, pressing her closer, closer into the core of a volcano. She went gladly into it, her breath returning as strong arms squeezed her tight and forced her lungs to expand. Then, she felt something hot and wet graze her ear, followed by a warm puff of air as her Master breathed, "You have to stay awake. Don't succumb to hypothermia. Breathe. Focus on me. Look at me, Adriaan; look into my eyes. It's going to be okay." Her eyes cracked open, and gradually converged on twin, glowing umber eyes, solid black coals alive with the earthy heat and intensity of magma._

_ "Focus…"_

Her eyes snapped open, and she gasped painfully as a particularly freezing volley of water hit her as she inhaled. She buckled over, her cold, dripping hair slapping heavily against her face. "_Shab,_" she groaned. The cold water was doing nothing for her this morning. She looked at the water faucet, her hand poised irresolutely over the knob marked "Hot" _Hot, _her brain murmured longingly. But did she dare…?

She scoffed at herself aloud. What a fool; why was she so afraid to take a hot shower, as if at any moment her Master would come charging in and demand why she was indulging in the forbidden heated bathing fluid? _She _was now the Master; there was no superior around to tell her what temperature her shower water should be at. Without further thought, she cranked the knob all the way to the left, sighing with pleasure as the icy liquid gradually switched to delicious, wonderful balmy water.

_Oh, Force, _she breathed, luxuriating in the taboo sultriness. _This is just sublime._

Then she yelped as the water turned from sunny to scalding.

"SHAB!"

She leaped out of the shower and flung a towel over her throbbing shoulders, shrieking and throwing a volley of curses at the steaming liquid. She stopped, out of breath, and suddenly whirled around the empty room and scowled, fancying she heard her Master's mocking laughter. _Curse you, Jacen, _she fumed, shaking the droplets out of her dripping hair and combing the tangles so that it all hung in a neat, long, heavy braid down her back. _To _haran _with you all who played a part in my past. You're all ruining my future by haunting my memories. I can't even take a shower without being plagued by your hideous, self-absorbed faces._

She rubbed her body dry, stuffing her long legs into the stretchy material of her black-and-silver jumpsuit and shrugging her arms through the sleeves, zipping up the outfit so that the material hugged the contours of her lean, Junoesque body. Melancholily, she slammed her feet into her boots and trudged out into the hallway, pulling her utility belt tight against her waist as she simultaneously tried to raise her Padawans and soldiers on the squad comm. "Assemble on the command bridge," she barked at them. "And don't you _dare _show up with your pajamas still on," she added as a warning to the Wicked Club. She heard a snicker coming from several of the links as she hung up. Despite herself, she grinned; it seemed as though Aedan hadn't been too badly affected by the nightmare he had had last night. _If only I was as resilient as he is, _she thought sadly, childhood memories surging unbidden. Frustratedly, she pushed them down, focusing her attention instead on some less distant object. Instinctively, her hands coiled around the oval-shaped yellow crystal she always kept in a secret compartment on her utility belt. Her fingers clenched it tight, feeling the warmth and bliss of the Force radiating from within its core. She pulled the crystal egg out of its hiding place, admiring its bright, faceted surface. Many wouldn't guess it, but it was actually a lightsaber crystal – a rare, indestructible type, found on only one planet in the galaxy – and it had belonged to one of the lightsabers her Master had carried. The other lightsaber of the pair he wielded had also been unique, having a black blade. Unluckily, the black crystal had been lost, so though Adriaan had replaced her Master's hilt with a generic blue crystal, and this was the primary weapon she wielded. In times of intense conflict, she brought out the lightsaber she had built, which was red.

The increasing flow of traffic in the corridor indicated that she was swiftly closing in on the command bridge, the center where all the action was directed. As she approached the doors to the bridge, the security detail saluted and stepped aside to allow her to pass, for most – if not all – of the troops on the _Fortitude _recognized her as General ell Talaan of Invader Regiment and Ade Verda Brigade. Shoving her unasked-for officer code cylinder back into her jumpsuit, she strode right into the midst of the whirl of activity as naval officers scurried back and forth, calling out instructions over the constant _crackle _of comm chatter and _bleep-beeping _of various robots and computer monitors. She dodged a clone crew member as he hurried past, his face buried in streams of codes issuing forth from his wrist datapad, and sidestepped in order not to disrupt the perfect formation of a clone squad as they marched away from the bridge officer, Commander Tem, who was busy relaying a series of instructions to a particularly cheeky R2 unit.

The Commander turned and acknowledged Adriaan with a curt inclination of the head as she approached. A clone of Jango Fett, Tem was one of the better naval officers Adriaan had dealt with in the course of her experience in the GAR. He was the only one who didn't overestimate the abilities of either himself or his fleet, and not only that, he didn't have that court accent that always got under Adriaan's skin. She couldn't stand people who talked in stilted, "proper", tinnie-like voices. _Klamin unfortunately picked that accent up during his time at the Zylxxian court. No wonder I hate it so much; as if the Shi'Odo's nasally, sanctimonious voice wasn't peeving enough._

_ "Don't lie; you despised court accents even before you met Klamin. You hate court twangs because _Jacen _hated court twangs. You adopt more and more of your Master' eccentricities as the years go by."_

"Up rather early, General," Tem observed, dragging her from her reverie. He indicated the R2 unit, which had just plugged itself into the database. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting, but that no-bit tinnie is determined to give me one _haran _of a time getting him to do anything."

The droid whistled obnoxiously, drowning out the Commander's explanation. Tem glowered at the droid and whispered to Adriaan, "I think your Padawan _shabla _him; that bucket of bolts hadn't given me any trouble before your Apprentice got ahold of him."

Adriaan looked at the Commander's disapproving face in surprise. "My Padawan? Which one?" she asked, slightly put-off by Tem's galled attitude, as if he held her personally responsible for the droid's uncooperativeness.

"Who do you think?" Aedan's proud, smug voice floated from behind. Adriaan turned and looked down at the boy, whose feet were planted wide underneath him as he folded his arms across his chest and smirked at her.

"Aedan, why did you mess up this droid? Now we're going to have to scrap him," Adriaan said, with a touch of impatience. _And _this_ is the thanks I get for helping him out last night?_

Aedan snorted. "Scrap him? WICKEDLY why? I didn't screw him up; I merely tightening a couple bolts I thought were loose, so I helped you guys out by _improving _him."

The droid whistled an indelicate retort in binary. Tem raised his eyebrows in mild shock.

"Who programmed those new words in his vocabulator?" he asked.

"Adriaan," Aedan replied without batting an eye. "She has a GOOD old Hutt mouth."

Luckily for him, the rest of the team came rushing up before the General could knock some sense into her ungrateful student. Struggling to compose her apoplectic facial features, Adriaan ducked her head and aimed a kick at the astromech, startling the hooting droid into jumping the correct charts onto the holoscreen.

Adriaan jabbed a finger at the moving red dot on the tracking reticule. "Two hours until it drops out of hyperspace," she said.

"Awesome," Kay said. "That gives us plenty of time to suit up, hook a ship and cruise on over to the RV point."

"Yeah, sure, except I'm the only one accomplishing this part of the assignment." Adriaan announced abruptly.

The twins' dream hadn't been the only troubling thing that had kept her awake almost all night; she had thought the assignment through very thoroughly, and intercepting the Mandalorians alone seemed the best option in her eyes. All her soldiers and Apprentices were extremely qualified, but they lacked a vital component necessary to complete a live capture assignment. They didn't have the resolve to play cat-and-mouse, to torture – well, _torture _wasn't an entirely accurate description, but Adriaan didn't know what else to call it – their prey into submitting. No, a teammate would only get in her way; after the loss of her Master, Adriaan just didn't have much heart to collaborate with team members.

"No, _I'm _taking this mission," Aedan argued. "I'm WICKEDLY starving for some action and excitement."

Adriaan shook her head, smiling a little at her trouble student's unwonted eagerness. _Gotta love his passion for some good hard fighting. That Aedan's got his quirks, but at least he knows when to cut the clown act. Unlike someone whose name I will not mention, but I'll give you a hint: it starts with a "K" and ends in an "L-A-M-I-N" _"Sorry, Aedan, but you're going to have to starve for a little bit longer; this concoction of 'excitement' is a tad too strong for someone your age."

"What makes you say that, GOOD?" he demanded. "You have a thing against males or something? You one of those GOOD sexist people or something?"

The Jedi snorted outright. _"Quirks" was putting it a little too lightly, perhaps…_"Um, excuse _me_, Master I-won't-let-girls-in-my-club-because-I-think-they're-stupid, I don't think you have any room to be making those kinds of accusations. This is an X13 assignment, which means that team members under the age of thirteen are automatically disqualified from participation."

"I've never heard that rule before," Andora, who studied the GAR field manual religiously, remarked suspiciously.

"It was ratified by the Jedi war council just last week. Too many Padawan fatalities have been pouring in lately," Adriaan said, refraining to mention that although the statistics were true – that, indeed, minors were being slaughtered left and right – the Jedi war council hadn't really adopted that rule yet; she had made it up herself only a few hours ago. _But what my Padawans don't know won't kill 'em._

"Does that include us as well? Because we're only seven chronologically," Nano said before his gung-ho brothers could silence him.

"Now that you mention it, yes," the General said with a puckish smirk. As all the troopers began to audibly protest, she explained, "I plan to fly solo for this objective; I do better alone anyway. Don't worry, you guys can participate by monitoring the Mando ship while I hijack it, so you'll get a front-row seat if I end up getting blown to pieces or something."

"Don't say that, Ree," Kay berated sternly.

"Yes, don't scare the little children," Marya snickered.

"I'm not trying to scare anyone, I'm just laying out the facts," Adriaan replied evenly.

"Since we're laying out facts, I think it wise that you should take someone with you as a precautionary measure," Klamin broke in.

The Jedi sighed. "First of all, your thoughts are not facts; they are only your own bizarre opinions which are fortunately not shared by the plurality of the galactic population. Secondly, I suppose that you suggest this companion should be Kay?" she asked sarcastically, well-knowing the person he thought most suitable for the mission.

"Of course not!" Klamin said, not catching on. "Kay is still officially walking wounded, so it would be foolish to put her back on the field until she has made a full recovery. No, I naturally recommend yours truly to be at your service."

"Now, hold on just a minute," the Alpha Padawan fumed. "I am quite well by now, thank you very much, and if you are going to be walking around classifying me as 'walking wounded', then _you _aren't very qualified for this assignment either because I distinctly remember you complaining about feeling under the weather just yesterday."

"I do not know what you are referring to," the Shi'Odo said, affronted. "I think I am the best classified for this assignment due to my race superiority. I can handle this objective alone, but as my Master insists on accompanying me, I shall not try to dissuade her."

Everyone on the team stood up at once and began shouting and arguing, outraged at his egoistic and racist remark. It very nearly came to blows with Klamin and Kay; they were standing millimeters from each other, Kay Lee's nose practically poking a hole in the Shi'Odo's paunchy gut – she was so short she barely came up to his waist – as the two screamed insults at each other.

"I'll show _you _race superiority if you're going to get snotty about your ability to shapeshift –"

"Bah, how can _you – _a mere human who is dwarfish even by her own punitive race's standards – be in any way superior to a three-meter-tall Shi'Odo Force-sensitive shapeshifter?" Klamin scoffed. "Perhaps these 'special abilities' you humans allude to possess are your exceptional corruptibility, megalomanism, and obsession with invading and gradually destroying foreign planets like so many intergalactic parasites. You humans are a plague."

"Hey, speak for yourself, snakeskin; even your skin is incapable of being loyal – it's as shiftless as the yellow-bellied, gelatinous being it was cursed to encase," Cor guffawed.

"You tell him, WICKED!" Aedan hollered encouragingly.

"I must fulminate –" Andora began, but no one was in the mood for her sermons.

Adriaan looked around; all activity on the bridge had come to a standstill, things with the Invader team had become so obnoxious in voicing their disagreements that the crew members could no longer concentrate – or at least pretend to concentrate – on getting their work done. The crewmembers, including Commander Tem, stared stonily the heated performance raging on within the very brain of the ship. The CO – and that meant Adriaan – had to do something, and quick, before things escalated to killing point.

"Parasite!" Klamin bellowed.

"Snake!"

"Void brain!"

"_Chakaar!"_

"ENOUGH!"

Adriaan and Ember moved quickly, the clone grabbing the incandescent redhead while the Jedi secured the slimy Shi'Odo by the ear, jerking him roughly back off his feet in spite of the fact that she was half his height and weight. Seeing the tall, Amazon-like woman – who nonetheless dwindled to the size of a petite elf when standing next to the massive morpher – manhandle the gargantuan alien as if he were no more than a nerfsteak, everyone was cowed into a sudden, awful silence. Aware that all eyes and ears on the bridge were completely focused on her, the enraged Jedi took advantage of the platform to announce, "After that remark, Mr. Superior Race, you are lucky I'm not blasting you back to the Jedi Temple on strict embargo while we complete this assignment without you. As I have stated before, egoistic, sexist, and racist remarks of any sort are banned from my command. Is that understood?" Her peripherals registered the naval commander's grim face nod in approval, but she kept her gaze locked on the shapeshifter's shifty eyes until Klamin sullenly yielded, jerking his chin down to acknowledge that he understood. "Now, I have changed my mind about riding solo and have decided to take Kan Enik with me, as long as he thinks he can handle the pressure." She looked to him, and he grinned and fist-pumped to show his satisfaction and pleasure at being selected. _At least _someone's _happy today. _"Good; you can log into the computer database and read the mission objective while Ember briefs you. All but the gray, overweight alien are dismissed." The clones and Padawans saluted and exited quickly, while everyone else hastily turned their attention back to their respective duties. No one was eager to be near an infuriated Jedi, particularly if the Jedi was a tall blond hyper-fit big-voiced female with a name that was tricky to pronounce and fatiguing to spell.


	5. Chapter 4: Interdict and Apprehend

**Told you guys I was on a roll! Here's the next chapter to _Syzygy_! As usual, all forms of support (faving my stories, and especially reviewing) are greatly appreciated! There are quite a few times where Adriaan speaks to the Mandos in their native tongue and doesn't bother to translate into basic, and since this chapter is in Kan's POV (and since Kan hasn't bothered yet to learn Mando'a) I'll render the words and phrases into English here:**

**Mando'a Translations:**

**_buy'ce – _helmets**

**_Gar Mando'ad, shabla jetii? – _You one of us (a son/daughter of Mandalore), you screwed-up Jedi?**

**_Aruetii besom, mhi n'cetar at gar! N'jurkad Mando'ad! Sooran, shab! – _We will never lick your dirty foreigner boots. Don't mess with Mandos! (_Sooran shab _is a bit harder to translate: basically it's a contemptuous and triumphant comment which can be translated as "Suck on that, chum!")**

**_Kebiigaan – _Rune explains that the markings on her armor represent her family name, _Kebiigaan, _which means "blue hand" Her first name is derived from the Mando'a word _runi, _which is the poetic use of the word "soul" So, roughly, her name can be translated as "The blue hand of the ghost [soul]"**

_**Se suru. Se kad. Se darasuum kote – **_**TCW fans may recognize that this and the following phrase was taken from the Mandalorian episode arc in Season 2. These two phrases are actually spoken in the Concordian dialect, which is fairly similar to pure Mando'a. Basically it means "I die for eternal glory (so our cause shall grow stronger)"**

**_Ki norm'iim darasuum kote – _Yes, sleep in eternal glory.**

**Let me know what you guys think! We've finally got some fight scenes going on here! The opening quote, the argument between Adriaan and Klamin, and the conversation with Adriaan and Kan prior to interdicting the Mando vessel are both based on snippets of conversations (and debates) I've had with real-life people. Hope you guys like!**

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Chapter 4

_"I wish you would smile more; you are the most beautiful woman in the world when you smile."_

_ "It didn't come naturally; you know I used to have crooked teeth? It was so bad people called me disfigured. The Jedi Council didn't care about what I looked like; they said there were flaws in everyone, that flaws were what made each of us unique. So I grew up thinking that way, and was for the most part able to ignore my deformed smile. But when I was enslaved by sith cultists, they saw my overbite as a disfigurement. They didn't want me, and knew that I wouldn't fetch a good price if my teeth weren't straight. So they invested in some braces for me. It all goes to show just what the galaxy thinks of beings now – if it isn't perfect, then they don't want it. Who cares if you've got a great personality? If you aren't hot, no one will go for you. No one cares anymore if you have a soul or not. The concept of the dignity of life is lost on this generation." – _Wolf and Adriaan, respectively, during their unauthorized vacation on Nubia.

✶ The _Fortitude_, 0630, 407 days ABG ✶

Kan began to follow Ember, but the marshal commander was halted by the bridge officer, who reported something that demanded the ELF's immediate and absolute attention. Thus Kan was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the floor and discomfortingly within earshot of his Master, who was hardly mincing words as she gave Klamin a justly merited tongue-lashing.

"Seriously, Klamin, did you really need to make those derogatory remarks?"

"I was only speaking the truth; it is no crime to acknowledge truth."

"No, you were merely stating your opinion, which is bizarre and illogical at best."

"Who are you to judge my opinion?"

"You do realize that certain opinions of yours do not exactly help you gain any close friendships with anyone on the team, right? Can't you see that we all despise you, that no one can stand having you around?"

"You cannot read hearts; how do you know that everyone else despises me? You have only half the friends that I have, and the ones you have you are friendly with only half as well as I am with half of my own. Your first Apprentice, Kan, trusts me more than he trusts you. Even Kay is better friends with me than she is with you."

She snorted derisively. "You just said that _I _cannot read hearts; I would dearly like to know how _you _acquired a skill I apparently do not possess."

"Because I am a Shi'Odo, a species that is – and I mean no disrespect – superior to the human race in almost every way imaginable."

"How funny; I don't remember you ever mentioning that heart-reading is one of the, ahem, _myriad _of skills a Shi'Odo possesses."

"You are assuming things, as usual; I never said I was a heart-reader."

"Then how can you say that my Apprentices favor you over me?"

"Because it is true."

"Did they say so?"

"We never gossip," the gray alien said, drawing himself up indignantly.

"Then where's your proof? If they hold you in such high esteem, then why haven't they appointed _you _the Jedi Master and General and kicked me down to the Agri-Corps? Why, despite the fact that I've quasi-resigned from the Jedi Order, has not a single Padawan left my command yet?"

The Shi'Odo hemmed and hawed, morphing from red Twi'lek to Gran to monkey-lizard to Hutt all in an instant. At last he assumed the form of a female Pa'lowick, his pouting, sanguine lips protruding from a proboscis-like mouth. "Well, at least I don't give out red herrings, outright lie to my Apprentices, and worship some dead guy."

She reared up in high dudgeon, her eyes flashing like lightning. Pa'lowick-Klamin cowered and shrank away as she stepped forward and grabbed him by his stalk-like mouth, pulling him forward so that his face was just inches from hers. "And what's it to you whether I don't tell you guys everything?" she hissed. "Even though we are at war with seceded systems, we still live in a free Republic, whose constitution guarantees every citizen's right to privacy. I am not obligated to give you every last paltry detail of my existence, and you have no authorization to breach my privacy, you stalker. Why the _haran _are you so obsessed with me? I know you're still new to the Jedi Order, but even you must know by now that _there are rules you have to observe! _If you can't do that, then you should've picked a different dream to pursue. So why don't you man up and get the _shab _out of my business! You can't always get what you want in life, so _get over it!_"

"Get over what?" Klamin asked sullenly, feigning an injured innocence.

"You know what I'm talking about. I know why you're doing this –"

"You are not me, so how can you know what is in my mind?" Klamin interrupted surlily.

"Because all Jedi are taught how to read the thoughts of the weak-minded," Adriaan snapped.

Kan winced _Touche, Adriaan._

The Shi'Odo growled, shapeshifted into a Hutt, and slithered away, uttering Huttese imprecations under his breath.

* * *

His Master was quiet on the flight to the RV, and Kan could tell it wasn't an "at ease" silence of the satisfied, but the solitude of a brooding, festering anger. Kan sat in the copilot seat awkwardly, remembering how he had lied to her and tortured her friend. The horrible secret weighed him down so much he almost blurted out a confession to her. He didn't like living a lie, but he was afraid of what she would do if he told her the truth. Images of her disowning him and kicking him out of the Varactyl Clan, or even worse, outright murdering him in a rage, kept popping into his mind. He wouldn't exactly blame her if she did either of these horrible things. _As bad as this feeling like a clandestine murderer feels, it can't be as bad as what will happen if she finds me out, _he thought, looking at his Master's face reflected in the cockpit screen. The dusky blue light on the console set off the blue of her eyes and dyed her lips indigo, and darkened her eyebrows, giving her a grotesquely furious expression. _I have to get her snapped out of this mood; she can't possibly focus if she's irate like this._

"Don't mind Klamin," he began timidly, his voice cracking in the middle. _Curse going through puberty…_ "He just speaks the first things that come to his mind; he never once considers that some of the thoughts his brain hatches are inappropriate to say aloud, or something you shouldn't proud of. He's not worth freaking out about."

"I'm not freaking out," she said flatly. "He doesn't get under my skin."

"Then why do you look so furious? You haven't said more than a handful of words this entire flight," Kan pointed out.

"I'm naturally taciturn; I'm just trying to focus," Adriaan argued.

"Now you're playing Klamin's stupid debate-denial game," Kan said bravely.

"I am _not _acting like him!" she said vehemently.

"You're in denial again," he said.

She raised her hand and he recoiled involuntarily, but she simply tightened her fingers into a fist and smashed it down on the console, almost breaking the navigation system. "I didn't take you along just so you could put me on trial," she spat.

"I'm not putting you on trial," Kan said, backing off. "I'm just trying to help you out; that's what a teammate is for."

His last remark seemed to have a positive effect on her, for her face softened considerably. She was still tense, but she didn't look so angry. "Thank you," she said quietly.

They sat for a few moments in silence before Kan ventured, "Want to talk about it?"

A grim smile crossed her face. "Ah, so instead of a courthouse this is a confessional?"

"Why, is there something about Klamin that you need to confess?" the Padawan asked, a little taken aback.

She waved her fingers, carelessly brushing aside his remark. "Oh, no, I have nothing to hide about _him; _don't be so ridiculous. But now that you mention that hideous monstrosity, maybe there are some things about him the rest of you aren't yet aware of." She smoothed down her jumpsuit. "Do I really need to tell you, though? I would have thought you would have guessed by now. You were on the bridge when I was lecturing him."

_Wow; I had no idea she observed that, _he marveled, with a touch of disquiet. Sometimes his Master seemed altogether omniscient. "I have my suspicions," he answered with a shrug.

She cocked her head at him. "So you know?"

"That he's interested in you?" Kan asked. "Well, duh; it's really quite obvious. Even the Wicked Club knows. Even the _clones _know…well, most of them, anyway," Kan said, thinking of poor, blindly infatuated Wolf. "The Wicked Club teases Klamin about it all the time. It makes him surly. Violent even. Like that one black eye Aedan said he got by brushing his teeth? Well, Klamin was actually the donor of that purple beauty. Aedan had remarked that you were only attracted to muscular human males, and Klamin lost it and punched him. Aedan was so embarrassed a 'good' gave him a black eye that he made up a story instead of telling you the truth."

"I already knew he had been lying," Adriaan said. "And trust me, I made sure Klamin was disciplined. I didn't interrogate Aedan because I decided not to get into his business; I just took care of the incident quietly. It's called a 'mother's intuition' – we know about things like this. But I wish Klamin would stop picking on smaller people and take it out on the person actually responsible for breaking his 'poor, sensitive heart'"

"How did you break his heart?" Kan asked, sitting up straighter.

"You mean he didn't tell you?" Adriaan asked with a sardonic smirk. "I would've thought he'd have whined for weeks about it."

"Whined about what?"

"That I spurned his advances to me?"

Kan was taken aback; he hadn't heard or even dreamed of such an occurrence until now. "He did _what_?"

"Oh, what he was proposing was nothing quite so scandalous as you are assuming; he just wanted us to be, ahem, well…let's just say he wanted us to be _more _than just Master and Apprentice."

"Oh…stang," Kan said, rubbing his eyes. "When did he, you know, announce his feelings for you?"

"When we were on Nubia," Adriaan said, somewhat sheepishly.

"Really?" he blinked, his brain struggling to accept what she was telling him as fact. The story was so insane, so bizarre, that she couldn't have possibly made it up. "I honestly had no idea. What did you say?"

"What do you mean 'what did you say'?" She asked, clearly indignant. "I may be a maverick, Enik, but I'm not stupid enough to break the 'no romantic relationships' rule. It's quite possibly the only rule in the Jedi Code that makes any sense."

"Plus it's weird for a Master and Apprentice to have a romantic relationship," Kan added.

Adriaan shifted in her seat. "What makes you think that?"

"You mean you don't agree?" he asked, surprised.

She pretended to concentrate on piloting their craft. "Of course," she said finally. "I mean, I could never like Klamin in _that _way – in fact, I can't say that I like him at all. But I don't think you should automatically label a relationship between mentor and student as perverted. I don't know how much you know about relationships, Kan, but there are all sorts of couples out there: interracial couples, couples where both are the same race, couples from the same generation, couples where one person is substantially older or smarter than the other…it takes all types, Kan."

"I think it's weird."

Adriaan sighed. "What's weird about it?"

"Well, I mean, it's good for a student and teacher to have a close relationship, but when it gets _that _close, the mentor sort of…loses esteem, I guess." Kan struggled to formulate his thoughts into words. "I mean, I just think about what if it was like that between me and you…I just have a hard time even _imagining _that."

"I guess that's good," Adriaan remarked drily. "Because I can tell you right now I'm not your type. You are meant for a very special, lucky woman."

"I'm a Jedi; there is no girl waiting for me," Kan said with a frown.

Adriaan smiled sardonically. "And how do you know that?" she asked.

He opened his mouth to answer, but then he saw her point and kept his trap shut. He turned away from her and contented himself watching the navigation screen.

"You know, I actually feel sorry for Klamin," Adriaan said after a while.

Keeping his back to her, he asked, "Why do you say that?"

"Because I know how unrequited love feels."

He turned back to her, his curiosity aroused. "You mean you once broke the no attachment rule?"

She shrugged. "Everyone does at some point in their lives. As for me, it was after I hit puberty, even though I had been unconsciously fond of him for years. I didn't know how to deal with an overdose of hormones."

_She's being awfully chatty and open today. _He couldn't believe his good luck. _It would be foolish to pass up a perfect opportunity like this. I wonder…she seemed to be very attached to her Master in Darc's recollections. Could it have been Jacen Palgwebb? _"And?"

She smiled sadly. "My heart was broken. There is no such thing as a clandestine relationship that lasts forever. If the secret is never uncovered the relationship falls out anyway because a partnership founded on a lie is shaky at best. It prevents you from having any open friendships with anyone, and you always end up suspecting your partner of cheating on you. Neither of us cheated on each other, and we loved each other very much, and then…_it _happened." She lapsed into silence with a shudder.

_What happened? Darc said Jacen had died…had been killed? That would certainly be a tragic event to any Padawan. Or could she possibly be referring to the incident when Darc left the Jedi Temple? Had she fallen in love with _Darc?"What happened?"

The question roused her from her ruminations. "The details are irrelevant," she said, regaining some of her former reticence. "Unfortunately, the Jedi lifestyle is too rigorous to offer any room for deep-rooted attachment. In the end, we had to choose between fate and feelings, and the former won out the day. It took me years to even begin to heal from the mental shock of losing someone I held so close to my heart. I haven't gotten over it, which is why I don't trust anyone, not even you. I know there are things you don't tell me." She looked at him in the eye when she said this, and her eyes were such a keen, vivid blue that Kan had to look away. "You don't have to worry about me trying to find out," she assured him. "One thing that hurt me most as a Padawan was that I wasn't given _any _privacy at all; everyone had their nose in my business. It annoyed the _shab _out of me, and I don't want to give my own students the same hell. I'm sure your secret isn't all that bad, really. You're just not the type I was. You're too innocent."

_Oh, if only you knew…_Kan shifted uncomfortably under her sharp scrutiny. He felt about as transparent as a pane of transparisteel. "Who was he?" he hazarded, eager to get back to the previous topic. _It could be Palgwebb, but it almost seems unfair to suspect Adriaan of _that. _Darc seems an altogether more likely option. Still, she was obviously devoted to her Master, and she doesn't seem to care for Darc much…not anymore, that is. Things could have been much different back then._

She drew back from his probing gaze with a short laugh. "Now, I let you have your secrets, and in exchange you allow me to decide what information about my past I choose to disclose. Only fair, don't you think?"

Kan nodded dismally, cursing his bad luck. _So much for taking advantage of the moment._"I guess so."

"As for my lover, his name and position and affiliation is as irrelevant as the incident that estranged us. All you need to know is that he was the best piece of _osik _ever to walk the face of the galaxy before the dark side decided to handle our destinies."

Kan paused, trying to read her facial expression. She looked surprisingly calm and open about such a deeply personal and agonizing subject. "Did he die?" he asked quietly.

Her gaze turned from innocent ocean blue to the defensive gray of steel. Her hand moved unconsciously, fingering something that was concealed in her utility belt."Do you really want to know that?" she replied slowly.

Dark images influenced his thoughts, and he had to turn away from her to compose himself. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the horror of the truth. _No, she didn't…_

"I can read your mind," she said from behind him. Goosebumps raced down his arm. _Did she actually kill the man she loved? No, she couldn't have; it must have been Darc, and Darc is very much alive. There was no one else, no one…except for Jacen Palgwebb. _"You will find that there are going to be choices you must make in your life where neither alternative seems to bring about any good, that there will be no decision which will not be accompanied by a bitter regret. I have faced these choices; I have learned that to be an adult is to step up to the plate, to not shy away from duty, no matter how dirty the job is. I have killed people who used to be my dearest and closest friends, Kan, and the decisions I made concerning them haunt me to this day. I could have hired someone to do my dirty work, but I would have still been held responsible, and I would have dragged a third party into my own cesspit, which makes it an even graver crime."

"I don't understand," Kan choked.

She sighed. "Kan, once cannot serve two masters; in the end, I was forced to make a choice: to serve the Galactic Republic – an imperfect master at best – or to join an affiliation I didn't really believe in but followed just because I wished to stay with my friends. But as I said, a servant cannot serve two, and unfortunately my friends and I aspired to serve governments and nations instead of sticking together. I guess we really didn't care about each other enough to sacrifice everything to stay together."

"But did making that choice really require you to do something as extreme as killing friends?" Kan asked. "The ends don't justify the means, you know."

"That is true, yet so hard to live by," she conceded, and Kan had to agree. "Besides, if it makes you feel any better, I did it in self-defense. I had initially planned to arrest them, but no one likes the idea of being caged up. I can understand why death seems a better option than capture."

Kan blew out a breath, running his fingers through his hair.

"You're mad at me, I suppose," Adriaan remarked casually. "Can't say I blame you."

"I'm not mad," Kan said with an effort. "I can't say I have any cause to be angry with you; this is your business, something I had nothing to do with. I'm just shocked, that's all. You haven't told us much about your past."

"Do you understand why now?"

He understood, all right. He had something else to tell her as well. "This might come across as slightly random, but you know about Wolf, right?"

She groaned. "I wish he would cut it out; it was great when he was my little brother, but now he believes he's in love with me. I feel horrible because I can't help but think I led him along, making him think I liked him in that particular way. And worst part is that Ember knows, and Mr. Mom thinks I have a crush on Captain Wolf. When Rez comes back and starts bragging about his girlfriend I know there's going to be fireworks."

"Have you talked to the clone about it?" Kan asked.

Adriaan's fingers traced a path down her braid. "I haven't got the guts or the time for it yet. I want to do it in private so there will be minimum humiliation involved. It'll be nasty enough as it is."

Kan felt genuinely sorry for both of them, but he knew it was for the best. "Know what you want to say?" he asked.

She frowned and shook her head. "I know what I will most likely say, but I'm trying to dumb it down so it won't be so…harsh. I can be unbelievably blunt sometimes, as you well know. I was a bit blue color with Klamin and as you can see he completely despises me now. I would really like for Wolf to remain my friend." She sighed and flicked her blond hair over her shoulder. "I don't know what's with me and boys, but all my friends who are boys always end up being attracted to me. First Darc, then my…my lover, then some other boys, then Klamin, and now Wolf. Thank the Force you and the Wicked Club have your heads screwed on right. You guys know an ugly chick when you see one, at least."

"Ugly?" Kan was amazed at his Master's cluelessness. "Adriaan, have you ever looked in a mirror?"

"I tend to avoid my reflection. I make myself barf."

"You're crazy. Are you serious that clueless about your own body?"

She scowled defensively. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…um…you have big blue eyes, gorgeous blond hair, uh…a gorgeous smile, hum…long legs, and, uh…you're kinda…_gifted, _if you get my lingo." He slapped a palm to his forehead at her puzzled expression. "Do I seriously need to draw a picture for you?"

Her face was bright red. "It's nice to know that's what you pay attention to when you look at me," she said, and then it was Kan's turn to be scandalized. The awkward silence might have stretched out a lot longer, but fortunately an alarm bell announced they were approaching the designated coordinates.

"Intercept in five," Kan said, flicking on the tracking display. A pulse of red indicated the ship they were going to tag.

"Take over controls," Adriaan said, popping off her restraints and standing up. "I'm suiting up."

"You mean I just get to sit here and pilot this ship while you go in there and take all the heroics?" Kan protested. He had been desperately hoping for some action. "Boring."

"Kan, I have no idea how dangerous these two warriors are, but I know for a fact an average Mando can easily take a Jedi Padawan at your skill level. And these are two Death Watch _Mando'ade _we're talking about. You'll get killed."

"How do you know that? Can you read the future or something?" Kan asked sardonically.

"Kan –"

"No, don't even start that. You're playing it safe; that's not the Master who apprenticed me last year. The Adriaan I knew always took risks."

"With her own life, not others' lives, and especially not the life of her own student."

"Why can't you just give me a chance?" Kan complained.

"Because someone needs to pilot the ship," Adriaan explained patiently, sliding her space helmet over her head, concealing her face. In a voice flawed by the tinny sound of the comm system installed in her pressure suit, she continued, "Maybe if you run the ship into an asteroid or something and completely trash it, you can join me – if you're able to get out in time, that is."

"That's very comforting."

She shrugged on her jetpack. The pressure suit was standard GAR-issued, so it maintained the generic clone trooper armor template, so she looked just like a miniature clone soldier. The suit was a little big in certain areas, but the design fit her like a glove. _She's got more warrior than Jedi in her, that's for sure. _"On that note, maybe you should suit up as well, just in case. You may not have to crash on purpose; Mandos are notoriously good shots."

Kan slid on his pressure suit, which was rather awkward business while he was still strapped in his seat, but he managed. His helmet on, he gave his Master a thumbs-up and said into the comm, "G2G."

"Thanks _chee-shawnee_," Adriaan replied, saluting with a flair.

"'_Chee-shawnee_'?" Kan inquired.

She groaned. "Oh, you're so upper-level Coruscant."

He frowned. "And what does that mean?"

"You haven't spent a whole lot of time in the bowels of the Republic's capital. A shame; you don't know what you're 's the one place on Triple Zero where you can find _culture_." Adriaan had her hand on the hatch. "Ah, they're coming out of hyperspace. Interdict on starboard in five, four, three, two…"

A vessel suddenly dropped out of hyperspace, hogging the cockpit screen. Kan gunned the controls hard left and corkscrewed to line up the deckhead hatch against the starboard side of the freighter. "Aligned in five, four –" He checked the ship's speed, aware that he started the countdown too late as the hatch had just aligned. "– Zero go go go!"

The hatch opened and his Master was blasted into oblivion. "Interdiction success," Adriaan's disembodied voice said in his ear. "Detach and depart; await at safe distance as there could be fireworks."

"Detach in five, four, three –" Suddenly the _screech _of metal shattered the space and Kan was spinning out of control with the vessel.

"Evasive action piece of _osik _destroyed interdiction line repeat vessel broke off Kan acknowledge sitrep –"

He couldn't answer; all the cockpit alarms were blaring, and his comm speaker was malfunctioning because he had hit his head too hard against the console. He looked at the status of his ship and knew it wasn't worth sticking around for; the sudden detachment had ruptured the pressurizer and all the air was escaping into space. It was a risky move for the enemy vessel to disengage by force, which told Kan that the Mandos were either very confident in the abilities of their ship, or were just plain stupid.

"Kan what is your position repeat what is your status acknowledge –"

"Aborting vessel," Kan said, even though he knew his Master couldn't hear him. Unbuckling the restraints, he stood and made his way across the cockpit to the hatch, which was blown right open. It took all his strength to hold on to the console so he wouldn't be sucked into the vacuum of space. He fished out a rappel line out of his emergency kit and secured it to the hatch. Then he fastened his jetpack securely to his back, took a deep breath, and let go.

He went into free fall and was abruptly suspended in the nothingness of space. Gunning his jetpack, he stopped his corkscrew and righted himself more or less, looking around for the enemy vessel. He spotted its portside about five hundred meters away. Too far for his rappel line to snag it. He would have to jetpack it without the reassurance of being stabilized by being anchored to a ship. A scary stunt, but entirely doable. Over the comm, he heard the _ping _of blasterfire and the _clunk _of an armored leg connecting to someone's helmeted head. He could only hope the head belonged to an enemy. "Kan your status respond do you copy sitrep please respond –"

_I have to get over there or she's not going to be able to focus on the assignment because she doesn't know if I'm okay or not. _His gloved fingers clumsily freed the rappel line from his belt. He started to tilt upside down, but he gunned his jetpack and shot ten meters forward. Four hundred and ninety meters to go. Four hundred and sixty meters to go…_Okay, this isn't so bad. I can do this…_

_ Ping ping pew pew sssshhhhhhrrrrrooooommmm. _The whine of a lightsaber now. "Commander Enik your _shabla _status please acknowledge _umph_ –" The sound of air abruptly being jerked out of her windpipe, followed by several rapid retaliations: a _thwack clack clunk _as her feet and fists connected, drove off the enemy, "– Back off you piece of _osik…" _Four hundred meters. Three hundred and fifty. Two-ninety…two-ten… "Commander Enik what is your fierfeked status!" _sshhhhhrrrooooommmm bang bang chink pew pew. _One-fifty, one-forty, one-thirty. "KAN! _Shab _it come _on _this is no time to be taciturn…" Sixty, forty, twenty…

"Oh, _shab. _You can't be dead."

Ten, five, _one. _Kan reached out and grabbed the edge of the hatch and pulled himself in, yanking open the emergency door and swinging it shut behind him.

Ripping off his helmet, he allowed his chest to swell to gather in as much power as he could as he bellowed, "IN!" He sprinted through the blast-charred corridor, following the trail of blast marks scoring the durasteel. As his mask came off, unsealing the pressure suit, his lungs heaved in the sharp taste of smoke and that distinct odor of a lightsaber blade. Pulling in is senses till it formed a central core of pure focused energy, he stopped and closed his eyes, reaching out and seeing through the Force.

In the blue, hazy perception of the Force's eyes, he saw two greyish figures, low in Force energy but armed to the teeth with firepower, and flitting among them was one gigantic presence that glowed like an electric ball of energy. And then he heard the clash of saber upon metal, a faint stench of seared flesh, a dull _chink _as a lightsaber met lightsaber-resistant material…_Of course, they're Mandos; hey must have that armor that is supposed to be impervious to Jedi weapons, _Kan realized. And if the Mandalorians were shielded with that kind of alloy, it made sense that they would have lightsaber-proof weapons supplementing their kit as well. _Just fantastic._

The sound of a young, sweet, sophisticated voice reminiscent of a typical female Jedi shouting a not so ladylike Corellian curse sent Kan full sprint in the direction of the battle. The door to the bridge had been fried shut, but the blast-proof doors hardly posed a problem to a young, adrenaline-pumped Jedi like Kan. Gathering in the Force energy around him, he focused it into a visible, glowing, rotating globe in his hands and with a mighty heave, sent it bulldozing right through the durasteel.

The blaster-proof alloy crumbled from the sheer power of the blow. He staggered a little as the Force suddenly and swiftly exited his body, but caught himself and came charging in, lightsaber aloft, as the Force flooded his system again.

He caught a glimpse of two black-armored figures. One a mottled shade of sables, the other a matte black with silver trim and a ghostly blue hand smacked across the dark T-mask. In the arms of the one with the camo armor, there was a rocket launcher. The Apprentice saw the smoke billow out from the mouth of the gun, and was just beginning to wonder what had happened to the missile when he heard the spine-chilling whine of an approaching rocket.

"Fierfek!" Kan yelled, too petrified to react any further. He saw the missile approaching in all the clarity of slow motion, but his reaction time was still as dawdling as ever.

General ell Talaan, however, was different; though she was just as good of an instructor as her own Master had been, nothing could replace the harrowing experiences which had taught her the hard way to act on instinct: move, or die.

Adriaan, who never panicked unless her Padawan's life was in danger, looked at Kan and uttered one word.

"MOVE."

Then her leg snaked out, pulled into her chest as her hips rotated, carrying her body with her, and all Kan could do was stare with a frozen look of horror as she expertly and none-too-softly spin-hook-kicked her ally out of harms' way and then did something Kan thought only sith could do.

She stretched out her empty hands and zapped the enemy with electricity.

_Zapped _was too weak of a word. At first Kan was so dazed from the hook kick which was just short of a knockout hit that all he could see was one indistinguishable blinding purplish-blue glow envelop the area before his eyes. When a stray bolt from the unleashed maelstrom escaped and connected to the Apprentice, its tingling shock snapped him into revival, and he leaped to his feet and shouted in astonishment as he perceived millions of individual lightning strands dancing, writhing, enveloping every individual object in the room. Even the floor teemed with electricity, tiny sparking snakes whiplashing against the bent legs of the unleasher of the storm. The crackle and roar of the lightning, coupled with spontaneous explosions from volatile objects – such as the rocket launcher and projectile – drowned out any other sound, though Kan felt the agonized screams of the victims cut right through his soul, and saw his Master's face contorted in a wordless snarl.

"Nnnnnoooooo!" The high shriek of a female fairly split his eardrums, catalyzing him into action. He didn't know what was going on with his Master – and he certainly knew he was no match for her if it came to fighting her to get her to stop – but he was not going to stand by and let even criminals die so cruelly.

_"You had no qualms about treating Darc this way."_

_ That was different. He chose the hard way. He wouldn't cooperate._

_ "By that logic, Adriaan is just to punish the enemy this way; they were not going to come peacefully. They tried to kill you."_

Ignoring the feeling of self-doubt gnawing in his gut, he bravely rushed forward and made a grab for the General's wrist. "Stop!" he yelled, yelping and ducking away as her foot came out of nowhere to club him away. He saw her mouth form words, but couldn't quite hear her. It sounded like she said something like, "_Shab _off."

_No way I'm giving up, _Kan said to himself, setting his will stubbornly against hers. With a renewed courage, he stalked over and tried to snatch her again. "Adriaan! You've got to stop before you kill them! The objective is to take them _alive, _remember?" His plea was broken off by a yelp as a strand of lightning raced off the shoulder he was shaking and zapped him right on the tongue, effectively drugging his voice for a few moments. He staggered back and reeled, the pain causing tears to spill over. He let out a sharp cry just before he dropped at her feet.

"Commander? Kan, what's your problem? Get up." The voice was calm, so disconnected the fury he had witnessed before. His tongue and brain throbbing, his ringing eardrums informed him that the hideous crackling had ceased. He raised his head and was rewarded with plain, unadulterated darkness.

"_Shab, _I fried the power conduit." There was a _buzz _and a flash of blue light as Adriaan activated her lightsaber for illumination. She bent over and held the glow up to Kan's face, studying him with a worried expression. Kan gazed back at her, terrified. No longer that innocuous teal-blue, her irises had become completely adulterated with that yellow fire that lurked in her eyes, and her hair stuck out from her face, giving her a feral look. "Sorry, I was concentrating so I couldn't hear you," she said. That voice…how could it be so calm? "Did I hit you too hard?'

"Uh, no, actually. I guess I should thank you for kicking me in the head; it saved my life." He stood up, and added his green lightsaber light to the blue one. He looked at her in bold disapproval. "Isn't that a rather extreme power for a Jedi Knight to employ?" he asked accusingly.

It irked him that his censure seemed to highly amuse her. With a shrug, she replied nonchalantly, "Oh, I don't know; if you want, you can go to the Council and discuss my delinquent behavior with them. Don't feel like you'd be calling an unnecessary meeting; they have discussions about me at 0930 every morning of the second day of the second week of the month." She glanced at her chrono and feigned a gasp of surprise. "Hey, if you hurry and take a star cruiser from the fleet, you can still make it to their next meeting scheduled two days from today."

"Hah hah. Very funny. Not," Kan said sternly. He pointed his lightsaber at the prostrate Mandos. "Did it ever occur to you that you might have…oh, I don't know…_overdone _it this time? You've just killed them!"

It was her turn to be surprised. "What? With that armor and their culture's history? It'd be a disgrace to the Mandalorian race to have such weak progeny. Trust me, Kan, I know Force lightning's power better than you do."

"But I –"

"_Usenye! _Back off!" she snapped. "I say they're alive or they weren't our real targets." And sure enough the prone forms began to stir.

Kan, holding up his lightsaber to see more clearly, edged his way toward the Mandos, but whirled in fright as a bolt of lightning struck overhead. The lights suddenly flickered and flooded the room with brightness. The Apprentice glared at his Master, who immediately looked sheepishly contrite and muttered an apology for alarming him.

"I'm not scared," he said uncooperatively, striding toward the enemy again.

"Check!" Adriaan said sharply, and next moment she was standing over the warriors, lighsaber poised casually in front of them, as if daring them to make a false move. The Padawan approached warily, put off by the aggressive and alert stances of the warriors as their faceless masks swiveled, analyzing the two Jedi.

"Hands up and _buy'ce _off," the Knight said in the harsh Mandalorian language. The smaller figure started, shocked at hearing the native tongue from a foreigner's lips.

"_Gar Mando'ad, shabla jetii?" _A feminine voice issued from the blue hand helmet, but the camo one barked a sharp retort in a Concordian dialect to shut her up.

"Best do as I say, and quickly; my temper is notoriously short. _Munit tome'tayl, skotah iisa, _'long memory, short fuse' – said to be the typical Mando mindset, or so my sources tell me. That answer your question?_" _Adriaan remarked, letting the saber edge ever so subtly toward blue hand's throat.

Neither warrior flinched, but they put their hands up. Adriaan sighed and gestured at Kan to remove the helmets. The Padawan advanced cautiously, feeling as if the faceless T-masks were glowering at him. The faces hidden in the masks turned out to be even more menacing. The gray one revealed a dark, square-jawed man with a labyrinth of scars decorating his face. The blue mask hid the face of a woman about ten years older than Adriaan, who had beautiful chalk-white hair but only one murderous hazel eye – the other had been gouged out in a brawl long ago and had been replaced with a cybernetic silver orb. The Jedi student shuddered as he looked upon the faces of the enemy. He had come to view the enemy as the mundane, faceless, mass-produced droids, not flesh-and-blood people who had been scarred from war and trouble. People just like him. The Mandos were no lovely sight to look upon, but he found he stared at them not with loathing; their human, imperfect faces were more uncanny than anything else.

Adriaan, who hadn't reacted at all to what they looked like beneath their dented, scored, yet tidy armor, wordlessly tossed Kan two pairs of stun cuffs. As she stood guard over the woman, her Padawan proceeded to secure the man's hands behind his back. That done, he and his Master switched spots.

The male looked up at the Jedi with an unusual curiosity. Kan was surprised to see that there was no fear in his eyes. "How do you know Mando'a?" he asked in basic, as if the Jedi was not worthy to converse with him in his native tongue.

The Jedi stood with her arms crossed. She looked at him dead in the eye and shrugged. "I'm a warrior, your people are – or used to be, I should say – also warriors. _U kalle rah doe kankee kung –_ I'm your kind of scum," she said in Huttese.

The man took a long look at the saber and spat. "With that shiny stick? Never, you Jedi dog."

Adriaan nodded calmly, her expression mock-disappointed. "I knew you would be offended to be in any way associated with me. Ah, well, you can't help it if some people don't like you. You finished, Kan?" she asked abruptly.

He hadn't realized he'd been idling. Hastily, he fumbled with the cuffs. "Name?" he questioned the woman. She turned her head to cock at him with her cybernetic eye, in a way that reminded him of a bird.

"Rune," she said, then shrugged, as if to say, "So what?" She rubbed her mouth on her sleeve.

"Why the blue hand?" Kan asked, snapping the cuffs into place. _There. _He looked to his Master for approval, only to find her getting a dressing-down from the other Mando, Atoya.

"_Aruetii besom, mhi n'cetar at gar! N'jurkad Mando'ad! Sooran, shab!" _he shouted.

"Family crest. _Kebiigaan – _blue hand," Rune said briefly, undulating her shoulders and wiping her mouth on her vambrace again. Kan sighed, hoping that the shrugging and wiping on the forearm wasn't a habit of hers. _We should get moving…_

The Force surged, warning him of danger. He turned, expecting Adriaan to meet his gaze, but she appeared unaware of what he had sensed. Where had the warning come from?

Rune coughed hoarsely. He looked twice and noticed she looked pale. "Water?" he asked.

She pursed her lips, shaking her head.

"Why is your mouth closed like that?" Kan asked.

She pointed her hazel eye at him in a way that was evocative of aiming a blaster at him, the iris fading from grey-green to ashy, clouded brown.

_ "Adriaan! Get that thing out of his mouth! Spit it out, you!" _

_ "_Wolf_." Kan dropped to one knee and stared in appalled disapproval at the clone. "Since when did we resort to the base interrogation methods of the Separatists? We're the good guys; we don't abuse prisoners."_

_ The cultist suddenly laughed, spraying pinkish-red foam all over Wolf's face. The clone didn't flinch. "Too late. They gave me a sithspit pill; one of the most deadliest poisons in the galaxy. Takes approximately thirty seconds upon swallowing to kill."_

Then the dreadful truth hit Kan. It was happening, the whole nightmare on Kuat all over again. Alarmed, as Rune began to writhe in a way that was all too reminiscent of Iratus in the throes of death, Kan turned and screamed, "Master!"

She turned and saw the whole situation in an instant. "Sithspit!" she said, running for Rune, but a glimmer of movement in her peripherals made her skid to a stop. Atoya was mimicking Rune's unhygienic habit, wiping his dry, flaking lips on his battered vambrace. In an instant, the Jedi whirled and had him in a Force grip, prying the unbroken sithspit pill right out from between his teeth. "Kan, you have to stop her!" Adriaan yelled as Atoya struggled to retain possession of the pill. "Don't let her swallow that poison!"

Rune gulped; time slowed, the Force sharpened his sight, and he seemed to see the half-dissolved pill as it traveled down her esophagus.

_The fazed Jedi was suddenly shoved out of the way by the clone as he tackled the cultist, shoving the prisoner's face into the ground. Wolf, keeping his captive's face pushed to the duracrete, rammed his hand down Iratus' throat._

_ "What are you doing?" Adriaan yelled, too shocked to take notice that the soldier had called her by her first name. "Wolf, stop it, you're killing him!"_

_ "I'm saving him, you – _ori'vod_! He's taken a suicide pill! Yow!" Wolf yelped and hastily withdrew his fist from the man's mouth as the cultist bit down and broke through the flesh of his hand. The clone's fist automatically jerked up to his mouth as his arm became saturated with the mixture of blood and saliva, but then remembered where his hand had just been and swiftly put it back down. Instead of sucking the blood from his wound, he struck Iratus across the face, leaving a red stain across the man's cheeks. "Two can play at this game, _schutta_ – you have two seconds to spit that out before I start abusing you."_

_ The man started to cough, and Wolf hauled him up so that their faces were just centimeters from each other. "Spit. It. Out," he said, punching each word into the air, "or I'll force you to throw it up."_

"_Se suru. Se kad. Se darasuum kote," _the girl said, her eye rolling in its socket, swiveling to Atoya as she addressed him in the native tongue.

"_Ki norm'iim darasuum kote," _Atoya answered through swollen, bleeding lips. Adriaan threw him to the floor in a fury, started toward Rune, hands upraised.

"You've seen this before! You know what to do!" she yelled at Kan.

Rune Kebiigaan doubled over, pressing her forehead against her knees.

Kan closed his eyes, feeling the Force throb through him like a great heartbeat. It pulsed through his veins, through his hands and feet, down to his fingertips, and he closed his eyes, allowing himself to become one with it, to slow into the rhythm of the Force.

"_My Apprentice, you know what to do," _Adriaan said to him.

He saw the sithspit pill slide down Rune's throat, a bloody miasma exploding from its core, enveloping the lining of her esophagus. He envisioned holding the sithspit in his hand, gripping it between two fingers, yanking it out…

His eyes snapped open.


	6. Chapter 5: Two Kids Walk Into A Cantina…

**_Su'cuy! _Here is the latest update on the duo stranded on Triple Zero. If the Force is with them, this will be one of the final chapters where Rez and Jordin are on Coruscant (and as you will soon see, the Force is not exactly with them in this chapter...) **

**Anyhow, this chapter is one of my longer ones, and a lot is covered in this approximately 25-page segment. It doesn't focus entirely on the ELF scout and Captain Skraps; you get a peek at the events unfolding in Kuat Space as the action unfolds on Coruscant as well. **

**The part when Jordin recalls Geonosis is my personal favorite section in this chapter because her reflections are similar to my own thoughts when I first viewed _Episode II: Attack of the Clones. _I never was particularly captivated by Hayden Christensen (Anakin) :-O. Jango Fett, of all characters, was the one who fascinated me. I remember being so bummed when Mace chopped off Jango's head…something about that scene just seemed so unreal to me. I remember thinking, "Wait a second, I did not just see that. There must be some explanation for this…maybe that was a clone, or a droid disguised as Jango, or something." Nope. Jango was dead.**

**After you're finished with this chapter, head on over to my profile page and vote for your favorite character(s). The poll is just to help me get a better idea of which characters my readers like, so I can make sure the favorites hang out in the spotlight. Also, your reviews are very welcome and appreciated! Thanks to all who continue to support my book series! Your reviews really mean a lot!**

* * *

Chapter 5

_"Though he was my enemy, I held a sort of respect for Jango. Perhaps he wasn't entirely bad. Perhaps he loved that boy. Yes, you may think I'm crazy. I don't care. I _know_ that he loved Boba as a son. I am not ashamed of honoring the dead, be they friends or foes. Something is not right here at the Temple. It is part of the Jedi code to respect the dead, but this practice seems to have fallen apart. Did you see the look on Windu's face as he bent over the body? Would you call that a look of sorrow? Something is terribly wrong here." – _Adriaan ell Talaan, shortly after the Battle of Geonosis.

✶ Triple Zero, The Underlevels, 407 days ABG ✶

"You didn't tell me you frequented these areas," Jordin said, looked disdainfully at the garish neon cantina sign which was casting a harsh glare that only seemed to accentuate the scummy exterior of the dive.

The clone, seeing the way her snub nose turned up in disapproval at his choice of establishment which would serve their last dinner on Triple Zero, began to have second thoughts about selecting what had become his favorite hideout, what the guys in Torrent Company had dubbed his "man-cave"

"Jordin, I don't drink, so I don't see what's so wicked about enjoying my virgin beverage with people who are at my maturity level."

The girl's green eyes were more like gelid laser beams as she probed his face for any sign of dishonesty. At last she threw up her hands in dismay. "Rez, I'm not stupid – if you don't go to the cantinas for drinks, then why in all planets would you rather hang out at some greasy dive instead of getting a hearty meal at a halfway decent establishment?"

The soldier shrugged sullenly. "You were the one who wanted to try someplace new."

Her face turned the color of her hair, but she took a deep breath and forced her tone to remain low and even. "Rez, please answer my question: if you don't come for the drinks, then what can this place possibly offer you?"

The soldier blew out his breath noisily. "_Culture!_" he blurted.

Her skepticism devolved into downright incredulity. "_Culture?" _she repeated, her jaw dropping open. Her laser beam eyes swiveled toward the crumbling, harshly lit building. "How can you find culture in this –" She searched for the right word, " – this _dump? _How can you expect me to keep my appetite when I know I'm sitting up to my waist in filth?"

_Blasted female, _Rez seethed inwardly. How typical of a teenage woman to be so loving and demure one moment, yet be so downright snippy the next? Rez noticed that Marya, Kay, Synta, Andora, and even Adriaan were prone to these seemingly random mood oscillations, and it set his teethe on edge. _I suppose this is why Ember always advised exercising caution around females, _the soldier thought wryly, fondly thinking of his commanding officer. _Good old Ember. I know _he _wouldn't disrespect my man-cave._

The crash of a few tables being overturned by clumsy, drunk patrons, followed by the sound of intoxicated, boisterous laughter, came from within the dump.

"You _did _mention you were tired of the peace and quiet," Rez pointed out hopefully to his dubious companion.

The gentle will inside her began to yield to him, but she was still hesitant. "Aren't we both a little young to be hanging out in a bar?"

Rez hefted the pouch which held the remainder of his spending money, shaking it so she heard the shallow _clink _of credit chips. He had been slightly exaggerating earlier when he had told her he had spent the last of his pocket money on the earrings which now dangled from her delicate, translucent ears."Let's just say the proprietor doesn't ask questions of anyone who carries a substantial amount of credits on him. Ahem." He jerked his head impatiently toward the door. "But I leave it up to you, sweetcake; we go here, or I can take you back to the Temple and you can spend your last evening on Coruscant in that peace and quiet you so dread, while I will thoroughly enjoy myself drinking fizzade with the scummiest dregs of society."

_Maybe it'd be better to keep an eye on him, _she reflected uncomfortably. Tensing, she allowed herself to be dragged closer to that greasy, loud menace, until finally she was swallowed by the slimy maw of the beast.

She was immediately overwhelmed by the chaos within. Bright, skimpily clad Twi'lek dancers twirled, glasses and mugs _chinked, _drunks babbled and drooled, spice was passed from hand to hand, dataries rattled, lights strobed and spun, beings from all corners of the galaxy huddled at the grimy bar and shrieked in dissonant tones for their drinks – while the prevailing odor of sweat, alcohol, and smoke filled Jordin's olfactory senses and threatened to choke her. The clouds of spice smoke tainted the air and swathed the whole cantina in a dense smog, and Jordin had hardly taken one step into the mess before something pulled on her boot and left her stuck fast to the floor.

She looked down and screamed at the green slime eating away into her freshly polished leather boot. Rez, quickly assessing the danger, swiftly yanked her free, but she pulled away from him and immediately let loose a full-scale verbal assault. "I _told _you this was a dump and it's even worse inside! This place is unsanitary and you know my health is still shaky – was your goal in taking me here to make me fatally ill again so that we could be forever stranded on this godforsaken capital? Well, if you want to stay longer you know all you had to do was ask me, you – you womp rat!" She suddenly broke down into tears. To her further humiliation, her outburst had not gone unnoticed by some of the nosier bar patrons, who swiveled to throw their two cents in.

"Hey man, don't just stand there! Buy your girl a drink! She could use one!" someone jeered.

"Rez, that you, mate? What's up with you and crimson chicks anyway?" a humanoid with green, scaly skin asked. "Don't you know the redheads are the nasty, vindictive femmes fatales? Take my advice and get yourself a blond – dumb is better than crazy."

Everyone within earshot collapsed into a drunken fit of laughter. His face flushed dark purple, the clone silently and gently took Jordin by the arm and led her to a secluded table in the establishment, ignoring the catcalls of his "friends"

As Jordin sat, she was amazed and touched at Rez's kindness and unusual patience with her, that she couldn't help but feel mortally ashamed for reacting as she did. _It was sweet of him to show me his "man-cave", though it is as dingy as a Jawa encampment, _she thought, _It's the thought that counts, right?_

"Oh, Rez, I'm so sorry. This place isn't all that bad, really," Jordin said, deliberately ignoring the three-centimeter-thick grease layer coating the table.

The clone, however, had a sharp eye. "Sorry, ma'am; let me clean the table," he murmured, and ducked his head as he swabbed the surface with a cloth he kept handy in his belt. But he didn't lower his face fast enough; Jordin was able to catch the look of joy that lit up in his eyes, and she knew her reconciliatory words had been noticed and appreciated.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, when the table had been properly buffed. He stood by her chair stiffly, like a servant awaiting his lady's command.

"A little," she answered, pulling out her datapad. "Rez, please stand up."

"But I _am_ standing," he said, puzzled.

"Oh…right." She squirmed to find the appropriate word. _Still not back to normal, _she fumed inwardly. "I meant for you to…sit."

He pulled up a chair and straddled it, cupping his chin in his meaty hands. With a finger, he waved a serving droid over and ordered fizzade and fried nuna legs. The food – which, in contrast to its surroundings, was surprisingly sanitary and appetizing – arrived shortly, and both Padawan and soldier went through their drumsticks with gusto. Her hunger satisfied, Jordin turned her attention again to her datapad, which contained the information she had downloaded from the Jedi Archives.

Rez, who hadn't spoken ever since dinner arrived, ordered another round of drinks and a second platter of drumsticks. Recognizing that she needed quiet to study, he did not attempt to engage her in conversation, instead fishing out his own datapad and going through his mail. Jordin knew he had gotten quite a few messages from Synta, because she saw his face flush even in the dim blue light of the screen. After a bit, his fingers flew furiously across the keypad.

_Need help writing that love letter? _She asked drily in thought-speak, glancing up and smiling at him as she did so.

_"Love letter?" _His gaze briefly met hers, then swiftly ducked down to the screen. _"What are you talking about? I'm trying to beat Aedan's new high score on _Droid Gladiators III._"_

_ Ah. _Obviously he did not want to be pestered. That suited her just fine. The redhead turned back to her pad and keyed in a command which would target similar keywords found in all the files she had downloaded.

As the computer processed the data, Rez suddenly shifted in his seat and yawned."Kid, not that I'm complaining or anything, but wouldn't a private setting – AKA, your room at the Jedi Temple – be a more appropriate location to be perusing classified Intel? This isn't precisely what I would call a secure location."

"Relax, Rez; the files I'm reading can be accessed by anyone in the galaxy. Completely public, innocuous information," she informed him.

"What do you mean by 'innocuous'?" The clone asked, leaning forward to look at her datascreen.

She almost withdrew the pad out of his sightline, but she reconsidered. After all, it would be more suspicious if she seemed unwilling to divulge what she was reading. _Besides_, she thought, _I can trust Rez. He saved my life._

"Well, after I found the Intel Adriaan wanted, I decided it would be interesting to download her biography and read it. Just for fun, you see. It's a mental exercise; I'm trying to work out my memory and see how much information I can retain." She angled the pad so that he could look at the file. The soldier's eyes glanced over it without much interest until they converged on the profile picture.

He jabbed a finger at the dark-haired woman. "That's not the General," he said, almost accusatorially.

"Strange, isn't it? I figured it must be an Archive glitch, because the rest of the information seems accurate to me," she said with a shrug that belied her true interest in the pseudo "glitch". The computer _pinged _to alert her that it had finished scanning the documents. Several words jumped out from the page as the pad highlighted them. _Matching keyword results: Goba, Shag, Ra'hal, Espera,Haak, sith, cultist, cultists, anti, chosen, revolt, slave, slaves, lightsaber, lightsabers, Jacen, Adriaan, ell, Talaan, Netari, Tinar, Pakla, Eris, Akura, Vati, Ptosoy, Palgwebb, Council, Jedi, Padawan, Knight, Master, Darc, Chun-be, Mandalorian, Jango, Fett…_ "Jango Fett?" the Padawan asked aloud, pouncing on one of the final names on the list.

"What's that?" the ELF scout asked.

"Jango Fett," Jordin repeated, distrait, scrolling quickly through Adriaan's file until she found the name.

"What about him?" Rez said, his brows drawing together in a frown.

She only half-heard him; her mind was racing quickly, at more or less the pace it had used to go before her injury. The black funeral cloth over which the coma had thrown over her memories was lifted by a strong wind that was carrying red dirt, the _pop _of blasterfire, the keening of two hundred and some lightsabers, the sharp whine of gunships overhead…

_"Kan! The Acklay is chasing me!"_

_The rumbling wheels of an execution cart thundering in her ears as she squashed her face into the blood-soaked ground. She pressed herself flat against the earth, cringing as she anticipated an electro-pike to dive with a horrid thud into her back._

_"Get in the cart!" A voice – a female, basic-speaking voice, a voice that could not belong to a Geonosian or battle droid – yelled as the chariot squealed to a stop just meters from Jordin, kicking up a storm of dust. Suddenly Jordin was floating through the orange sky as strong, long arms scooped her up as if she were a mere toy and tossed her with gentle haste into the cart. The blond woman shouted at Aedan as she threw two small boys on top of the ginger. The Wicked King hurled verbal abuse at her and stalked off. As the golden girl furiously gave chase to the boy, the blond youth who had been thrown on top of Jordin got to his feet, fumbled for the reins of the chariot, and Jordin was jerked roughly to the bottom of the cart as the chariot took off, leaving Kan and the Knight alone on the battlefield._

_"Kan!" she screamed, struggling to remain upright in the jumbling, lurching chariot. "Kan!"_

_She saw his emerald-green blade dance against the orange landscape, cutting down droid after droid, bug after bug. Fire bounced off his blade and hissed like red snakes. His teeth flashed white in his brown face as he half-grinned, half-grimaced. He lifted a hand, and his enemies crumpled at his feet. Oh, he was marvelous to behold; nothing could stop him._

_But he was not invincible. "Kan!" she shrieked, but the dust drowned her voice. A silver dragon had glided into Kan's path, and now stood poised over him, two blasters grinning hungrily at the boy's pulsing heart. "No!" she screamed as the twin mouths of the dragon spouted fire._

_The blasts hit the shield of flesh that suddenly appeared in front of the boy. The tall, burly man crumpled without a sound and blended in with the red dirt of Geonosis, the dust entombing him even as he gasped his last breath. Kan screamed and dropped as if he had been stabbed, but the silver dragon's bloodlust had been satisfied; it shunned the boy and stalked off._

_Moments later, Jordin knelt beside Kan, her tears evaporating on his warm neck as she threw her arms around him protectively, shielding her eyes and his as the purple saber of the great Mace Windu whacked the head off the armored man. The silver helmet shot like a falling star over their heads and landed with an empty _clunk_ in the dirt, and as Jordin turned to see the silver and blue armor collapse like an empty eggshell at the Jedi's feet, a sudden, wild thought took her: had there really been anything in that armor, after all? Was that silver dragon truly as empty, cold, and heartless as his demeanor?_

_Adriaan had not thought so. The young Jedi paused in mid-swipe, the battle rage on her face devolving into a look of pure horror as the armored body died with a hollow clunk. "Jango!_ Ner ba'vodu!_ No!" she yelled, starting forward with arms held wide, as if to catch the body as it fell. Instead, her trembling knees gave way and she knelt in unconscious imitation of the decapitated cadaver._ "Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum ner ba'vodu Jango Vhett."

_Kan's sturdy arm encircled Jordin's waist as her own arm curled around his neck, and her teardrops fell upon his tearless face, like rain upon the dry red dust. "Why are you not crying?" she sobbed. "Can you not pity the death of a man? He has a son! I saw his child before the battle!"_

_He looked at her with eyes as silver and empty as the headless dragon. "Empty armor cannot procreate. Empty armor is not worth tears," he said in a voice as soft and cold as snow._

Her eyes glazed over as memories bombarded her brain, blurring the words before her. She blinked and sat up. "Jango Fett appears to have been involved in the Goba Shag rebellion led by Adriaan ell Talaan," she said.

"Interesting," Rez said in a voice that showed little surprise.

She looked up, curious at his tone. "You already knew this?"

He shrugged. "She had always spoke of Jango Fett – the host of mine and my brothers' DNA – with great respect. It became evident that she had had contact with Jango in the past when she began to revert to Mando'a when conversing with us. She told us Jango had taught her the language a long time ago, and that seeing his face reincarnated in us began to awaken the old habit of speaking in that tongue. I don't know how close their relationship had been, but I suppose that when the war broke out and Jango took the opposite side of the conflict, their friendship had to be dissolved."

Jordin sent Rez the image of Jango's headless body crumpling, and of Adriaan falling with him, crying in the strange, harsh language of the Mandalorians. _Can you translate what she was saying?_

The clone frowned in concentration, but eventually shook his head. "My knowledge of Mando'a is limited to the words to Vode An," he said apologetically. "I do know that _darasuum_ means 'eternal', and _kyr'adyc_ I presume means 'dead'. Perhaps she is reciting a death rite of passage. You should ask one of my _vode_ – that's 'brothers', so there's your first Mando'a lesson. Adriaan has apparently been teaching my brothers more of the language ever since I left to take you to the hospital."

Jordin returned to the file, considering. "Where is Goba Shag?" she asked finally.

He tapped a few keys on his pad and brought up a holochart of the Outer Rim, highlighting an area she did not recognize. "Somewhere on the borderlands of Wild Space, right where the Corellian Run spills out. I'm guessing it's somewhere around the Kamino System and the Arkanis Sector, because despite its isolated location Goba Shag is fairly well-defended due to being tangent to systems controlled by the Republic's allies, the Hutts and the Kaminoans. The Corellian Run and Hydian Way intersect after the Hydian hits Kuat, so Goba Shag is not exactly along our route, in case you were thinking about visiting." Keen emerald irises met frank brown ones. "If you're so curious about Fett's connections with ell Talaan, just ask the General herself when we get back; I'm sure she'll be more than happy to oblige."

He was too cunning for someone like her to attempt to fool. He knew her all too well. "I don't think any investigation is necessary," she said, eager to dismiss the possibility of asking Adriaan, and thus alerting her Master to the fact that her Padawans were becoming overcurious about her history. "This isn't anything important. I just found it…strange, I guess, that a decorated Republic officer like Adriaan would have at one time been intimate with a merc."

"Stranger friendships have happened," Rez said with a wink. "Such as the relationship between a certain redheaded Padawan and an Enforcing Front Line clone scout."

She smiled. "And don't forget the romance between a teenage Galactic civilian and a strapping young GAR soldier," she said teasingly.

"That isn't so bizarre!" he said defensively. "I think we make a great couple!"

"An unlikely yet coordinated couple," Jordin concurred. She leaned back in her chair and took a sip from her glass. "So, have you told her yet?"

His face turned red as he unsuccessfully tried to feign cluelessness. "Told her what?"

"What do you think, that you've beaten the high score on Gladiator Droids III?" the redhead said, rolling her eyes. _That you love her, silly!_

He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Do I?"

She looked at him quizzically. "Are you asking me? You should know best," she said.

He blew out his breath, running his fingers through recently cropped hair. He had shorn his ponytail off and gotten a crewcut to match Jordin, but he still wasn't used to the feeling of near-baldness. "Do I know best? _Can_ I know best, when I really don't know much about love at all?" he asked. "Heck, I can't even give you a satisfactory definition of love. It would be unfair to Synta if I told her something I didn't really mean."

"Well, first off, love is too complexly simple to be dictionary-defined," Jordin said. She smiled to herself, steepling her fingers in the sage-like pose idiosyncratic of Jedi Master Windu as she leaned back in her chair. _Funny that I would be having this conversation with him. I certainly don't consider myself an expert on this topic, having never actually been in a relationship before. Oh well, I'm all he's got._ "Second off, if you think you've never experienced love, then what the heck do you call the relationship between you and your brothers? Or even between you and me?"

"Friendship," Rez said simply.

She sighed. The ELF scout's naïveté was sometimes exhausting, even to her. "And what is friendship?"

"The willingness to make sacrifices for those whom you love."

She looked at him quietly. _Rez, would you really do anything for me? For your brothers? For Synta?_

"You know I would," he said, too vehement to revert to telepathy.

_Rez, if that isn't love, then I don't know what is._

"Hey, Rez, you didn't tell me you were still around! Thought you'd have been shipped off on another assignment by now!" A squat, slimy-looking male Quarren appeared suddenly behind Rez, slapping him on the back. The clone turned and flashed the alien a friendly, distracted grin.

"Actually, this is my last night here," he said.

"Good thing I found you then; I'm gonna help you make your last night on Coruscant unforgettable!" the Quarren chuckled. Leaning into Rez's ear, he whispered. "I've got a pair of Twi'lek girls just shipped from Ryloth. Very stunning; one's blue, while her sister is ebony-skinned. Nice hourglass figures, and most definitely not 'butterheads', no sirree! They charge me a fortune to perform at my club, but they've attracted double the amount of customers to my business, so I have to say it was a worthwhile investment."

"Dancers or masseuses?" Rez asked, fatigued by the alien's infatuation with Twi'lek women, who were invariably sold on the slave market as dancers or masseuses…or worse.

"Both," the Quarren said gleefully. "Would you like to see them?"

"No," Rez and Jordin said simultaneously, with equal vehemence. For the first time, the Quarren seemed to notice the Padawan's presence, for he stepped back in astonishment, his tentacles quivering.

"Oh my, yes, I forgot you had a girlfriend already," he said. He leaned in to peer closer at Jordin's face. She drew back, repelled at the pungent odor of alcohol and spice that flavored his moist breath. "Wait, but this redhead looks younger and cattier than the one you brought in the other day." He looked at Rez with reproachful pale blue eyes. "When I first met you, you very emphatically stated that you were a one-woman person."

"Ishall, may I introduce to you my fellow officer, Captain Skraps of the Invader Regiment," Rez said abruptly, his face reddening. "Captain, this is Ishall; he helped me find the store where I bought those earrings for you," he added almost desperately, trying to establish some sort of good impression of the Quarren with Jordin, who very clearly disapproved of his slimy friend.

"Ah, so this is the chick you scoured half of Coruscant for to procure some sort of bauble," Ishall said, his blue eyes flicking over her methodically, with a practiced scrutiny that made the Padawan very uncomfortable. Finally, his gaze swiveled to Rez. "You never told me she was hot," he said in a not-so-confidential tone. "You certainly know where to find the gifted ladies, don't you?"

Jordin's blood boiled with a mixture of fury and shame. Her hand moved to unsnap her Jedi weapon from her belt and remind the Quarren how to defer to a Jedi Apprentice, when the clone tactfully intervened. "There's a reason why I never mentioned her good looks, Ishall," he said, taking the Quarren's arm and leading him away from the table. "She's only a child."

"Makes no difference to me," the Quarren muttered.

"A _Jedi_ child," Jordin proclaimed loudly, causing several bar patrons to glance at her nervously and edge away. She ignored them, however, standing up from the table and following the clone and his sleazy companion to the bar counter, where the beings hastily cleared a space for her to sit. Her performance that evening had certainly established her as a female to be feared.

"Ah, in _that_ case," Ishall said, his gaze darting nervously at the lightsaber Jordin openly displayed on her hip. "My apologies, miss."

"That's _Captain_ to you," she snarled, conveniently forgetting she wasn't officially ranked.

"As a token of my repentance, will you allow me to buy you a drink?" he asked as the bartender slid a mug of Ruby Bliels down to him.

"Caf," Jordin said.

"Aw, come on, it's your guys' last night on Coruscant!" Ishall wheedled. "You should loosen up and have some fun. Here, try some of this muja ardees; it has a very low alcohol content."

"**Caf**," Jordin repeated firmly, before Rez could take Ishall up on the offer.

"Right," the Quarren muttered. "You don't drink either, do you?" He spun to the soldier. "What in all the Twi'lek goddesses do you and your friends do for fun?"

"Oh, blast droids, destroy the Separatist's dreams, protect corrupt officials, all for the betterment of galactic citizens such as yourself," Rez said easily, waving at the bartender to get him caf.

"What about your downtime? Don't you get R&R?"

The clone spooned heaping mounds of sweetener into his caf. "Well, not officially, no, but my CO manages to cook up some excuse so we can go AWOL for a few days without her superiors noticing," he admitted. "When we aren't on the job, we're usually training."

"Do you have time to sleep?" the Quarren sneered, his nasally voice tinged with sarcasm. "Do you ever just sit around and relax? You know, have a beer among your mates, visit the nightclub – that sort of thing?"

Rez tasted his caf, grimaced, then splashed the steaming fluid with some cream to give it some body. "Well, when we're relaxing – in a loose sense of the word – we watch martial arts holovids, play gravball or bolo-ball or spar a few rounds, organize an inter-regiment sabacc tournament, kick the chef droids out of the kitchen and have a Phrik Chef style competition…you get the picture. Some of the chaps in my brigade are under the age of thirteen – myself counting, chronologically speaking – so we go Kuati-style and hang in the caf bars. We do family friendly sort of things."

The Quarren choked indiscreetly, halfway into his beer.

"_Harum_, well, that's mighty interesting…_ahem_…uh, so if this Jedi isn't your girlfriend, I'm assuming you're still with that other girl?" he asked, after his coughing fit had finally passed.

"Yes," Rez said, shifting in his seat.

"She's going into the GAR, isn't she?" the Quarren continued. He winked lazily at Rez. "I wonder who talked her into doing _that_."

"She's going into the Naval Academy; we won't be in the same regiment," Rez said a bit stiffly. He looked at the alien keenly. "Funny, I don't remember ever mentioning to you that she was going into the GAR."

"Oh, she must've mentioned it to me when you brought her here," Ishall said, waving a hand dismissively.

Rez frowned. "She did?" He sipped his caf. "I don't remember that."

Jordin frowned, too. _It's not like Rez to forget anything, even a petty detail like that._

The Quarren shrugged again. Something about the topic seemed to make him uncomfortable, for he suddenly said, "So how's she doing?"

"Good," Rez said. He didn't seem to notice how Ishall slightly changed the subject. But Jordin did. "Why?"

"Just wondering." The Quarren gulped his Bliels down and ordered an ardees. "You two didn't seem so cozy when you brought her over. Kinda awkward, if you ask me."

"Really?" Rez said, looking uncomfortable. "I didn't think so."

The alien downed his ardees with a long, wet slurp that made her stomach churn. He held out his mug to be refilled. "It was quite obvious to me. You mentioned earlier that you only do infant-appropriate stuff – I guess that means you've never been with a girl before this, is that right?"

"Never had the opportunity to." Rez down the rest of his caf and ordered another. "Other than military officers like Captain Skraps, I haven't been around many women. The training on Kamino never included a class called 'females 101'"

"Ah, if there were such a class, life would be so much easier for us men," the Quarren sighed theatrically, nursing his ardees. "That fact aside, you are uncommonly disadvantaged when it comes to women, Rez old boy. You need to learn a few tricks."

"I don't like to trick people," Rez said, stiffening. "Honest and upfront – that's my personality."

"What I mean is that you need a few tips," the Quarren said, surprisingly forbearing. "For example, have you broken the 'contact barrier' yet?"

"The what?" Rez and Jordin asked simultaneously.

The Quarren looked at them and rolled his eyes. "Oh, stang, I've gotten involved with a pair of naïve Huttlets," he sighed. "Have you kissed her yet?" he asked, suddenly very forward.

"_What_?" Rez – who could string together a paragraph of expletives in twelve different languages without batting an eye – jumped to his feet as if the mere suggestion was scandalous.

Ishall rolled his eyes. "I thought not," he said. "Have you ever held her hand?"

"Why would I do that? She's not a baby," Rez said, a trifle indignant.

"Experience tells me women like their hands to be held," the Quarren remarked pompously.

The scout glowered, mulling over Ishall's nuggets of worldly wisdom. "I can't imagine why. It seems silly," he announced finally.

"You're the one who's being silly," Ishall snapped, quivering tentacles dripping with alcohol. "In fact, you're impossible! Why the Kaminoans made you clones so handsome is beyond me if none of you are willing to use your attractiveness to your advantage."

"What do you want me to do?" Rez asked sullenly.

"Well, we'll start off slow," Ishall said, jumping to his feet. "Next time you see your girl, touch her hip with your hand like this," he slapped his slimy fingers on Rez's belt – an offense that had cost many an eager pickpocket's digits, "and ask her if she were a space pirate, would she want her holster on this side, or –" he leaned in, his arm circling round Rez's waist so that his fingers touched the opposite hip holster, "– _that_ side. It's such a smooth, original pickup line; got me a female every time."

Jordin snorted, but both males were currently overlooking her existence.

Rez considered for a moment. "That's it?" he asked finally.

The Quarren snorted in mid-gulp, spraying a reddish mist of ardees all over the slimy counter. "For now," Ishall said, wiping his mouth across a grimy sleeve. "I would suggest doing a little bit more for her so she won't forget you when she goes to an Academy full of devastatingly rich, suave, young male naval cadets, but that's your call."

_Synta isn't so fickle as all that. She's loyal to you,_ Jordin hastened to assure a clearly troubled clone.

"Well, let's see you practice on the Captain…that is, if she doesn't mind," the Quarren said, hastily ducking away from Jordin's hard glare.

"Practice what?" Poor Rez was still digesting the "Synta's gonna ditch you for some snobby prepubescent royal pedigree cadet on Carida" bit.

Ishall slapped a palm to his forehead. "Breaking the 'contact barrier', you Gamorrean piglet!"

"And what is this 'contact barrier' you speak of?" Rez deadpanned.

"Just put your arm around her!" the Quarren roared. Rez hastily slung his arm roughly over Jordin's shoulder, but jumped back when Ishall yelled. "Subtly, you fool, subtly!"

The clone timidly put his hand on her shoulder. "Like this?"

Ishall rolled his eyes. "You look like a cold, limp, dead gorg. Do it like you mean it! But subtly! That's the key to every long-term success: being purposeful without looking it!"

Rez growled irritably and tightened his hold, curling his arm around Jordin's waist. She felt his warm breath puffing angrily against her neck.

"Perfect!" the Quarren yelled. "Now, hold it…" His obnoxious, nasally voice seemed to come from a distance, drowned by the _thump_ of a spurred boot on the pavement outside. Jordin's senses strained to hear the sound. Something was off here. Something was going on…

"Hold it! Nobody move!" a voice full of authority rang throughout the bar, silencing all noise in an instant. Rez drew away from Jordin, and the Padawan turned in the direction of the voice.

She gasped. A squad of CSE police officers had flanked the bar, and all of their blasters were trained on Rez.

* * *

The Jedi careened in the emptiness of space, jetpack sputtering to launch her into the hatch as the access tunnel disintegrated beneath her feet, the consequence of the bounty hunter's ship forcing premature de-interdiction. The cold of space seeped into her survival suit, but it did not harm her; it was just cold, after all…

But, after all, cold was evocative of things she wished to forget; death was cold. His lips had been cold, that last time she held him. Her heart was cold. Cold was how she woke up every night. Cold reminded her of the hard, gelid white of a medical center – the warmth-stealing plastoid beds in an infirmary, the chilling, probing surgical instruments…

Cold also reminded her of better times; of the months she had spent on a frigid, stark, feral beauty of a planet in the Outer Rim, struggling to free her fellow slaves from captivity. Perhaps she thought of this time period as one of the best stints in her life because he had only arrived after the rebellion, after all…he had not been there to guide her. It had been the first time she had ever been truly on her own, and she had founded a revolt and succeeded in establishing a new Republic world. Not many Jedi – not even the ancient Masters – could boast of such an accomplishment. It had been the first time she had realized that she did not entirely depend upon her Master; that the date was approaching when they would at last be not instructor and student, but equals.

_And now I have surpassed him…_

_"You seem happy here, Highness," he observed. His back was to her; he was facing the spectacular sunset that was always followed by a blast of colors as the dying light hit the frosty landscape. He seemed oddly out of place in the stark topography; a black figure upon the crystal-clear structure of the city, which seemed to be carved out of the icy terrain itself. The whole planet was crystalline, the white of snow mingling with a stunning rainbow of billions of crystals – what Darc jokingly referred to as the flora of Goba Shag. The planet was always beautiful, by both sunshine and moonshine, but she had always liked dusk best. The four moons began their silent march across the heavens as the sun saluted them and sank beneath the horizon, leaving behind a spectacular trail of stars. The heavens were always clear and beautiful on Goba Shag, which still maintained its wild virginity despite the sith cultist colonization._

_The sun blinked, then slipped into the dark womb of twilight. The planet fell into shadow, the moon casting a pale, even glow, illuminating the glassy surfaces of the city. His blade-thin, straight figure stood out starkly against the ghostly sheen of the terrace, as black as the silhouette of the mountain range beyond the capital – ahem, the _only_ – city. The scene was heartrendingly stunning, yet she sighed at the leaving of dusk; sunset would always be her favorite time. Was it because the beauty was so fleeting – sunset lasted only a few seconds on this frigid planet – that she found it the best time of the day…because it didn't last long enough for anyone to detect any faults in its beauty? Perhaps, but maybe it was because the deep golds and russets of the drifting sunlight had reminded her all too well during her captivity of his dark umber eyes, glowing like the embers of a fire her frostbitten hands could not feel, only dream to grasp?_

_She brushed sunbeams from her eyes. She did not dare admit such things even to herself. "The planet is beautiful," she said, realizing the silence had stretched for too long._

_"The landscape or the people?" She did not see his face, but she heard the smile in his voice. "Come, your Majesty, you were never one to stop and marvel at the simplistic beauty of nature. Your interest has always been in people – even in the ugliest of creatures you find some covert beauty that makes them seem attractive to you. You and I find beauty in passion, in the purpose and action of beings. You and I are not moved by the cold beauty of stars."_

_A warmth expanded in her chest; her heart hammered in her throat._ Ah, that is why I think you are the most beautiful of all creatures, because you set me afire…_Her hands went to her lips; her thought was so loud she was certain he had heard her._

"I do not need to hear you, Adriaan."_ She felt his presence touch her mind, as warm and comforting as a hand clasping her own. She had been lonely for so long; sure, she had been surrounded by people – she had been the commander of the six-leader group to the opposition – she had scratched out a living on the cold hard rock, she had risked hypothermia and torture and death for the freedom of a planet, but she had done it alone in the sense she had had no advisor, no mentor to direct her on the right path…this time, _she_ had done the leading. _She_ had done the had been the mentor, the fourteen-year-old General of a billion-being army…and she was still alive._

_"Padawan, I have always been careful not to flatter my own students, but I can't let this mission pass by without congratulating you on your success. You are truly amazing, and that potential I knew was hidden in you all along finally showed. I'm glad." His voice was low, sincere. She had never heard him speak to her in such a way._

_"It is because you made me so," she said quietly, with a graciousness that surprised even herself. But it was the truth; she had done it alone, but if it hadn't been for his training – if he had not so inspired her with the confidence that she could actually rise from the darkness of a prophesy, and be someone worth fighting for – she wouldn't have had the willpower to succeed._

_"No; that tactic with the barricade wall – I know I never taught you that. In fact, I'll admit to you now I am no military genius," he said. "Clearly, that was not the consequence of any of my efforts."_

_She grinned. Was that yet more praise coming from his lips? "Admit it; I'm a genius," she crowed triumphantly._

_"_You_?" he snorted. "Don't try to fool me. I know you didn't come up with that. Sure, you're a genius, for a _blond_."_

_Her retort died on her lips when the moonlight spilled through the window and illuminated his perfect face, and she suddenly forgot how to breathe._

_"Don't pretend you found that Mando _beskar'gam_ in some crystal garden, either," he said. "It didn't escape my notice that your revolution had the aid of a third party."_

_And here came the inevitable lecture. She swallowed. "Look, sir, I know the Mandalorians and Jedi are traditional enemies and all that, but you did tell me that my enemy's enemy is my friend; and in this case, well, face it…the Mandalorians weren't the antagonists here."_

_He waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, I know, I know I said all that…and I'm not criticizing you for accepting Jango Fett's help. I'm just surprised you were able to close negotiations with him. A bounty hunter of his prowess isn't hired cheaply."_

_"I didn't hire him, actually."_

_"Don't lie. Hutts will ride swoops before a bounty hunter does volunteer work for a charitable cause."_

_"It wasn't charity," she said. "Haven't you heard the native lingo? It's a mixture of Bocce, Huttese, and Mando'a. Many slaves were picked up from outflung Mandalorian colonies, such as Concordia. Mandalorians are generally built tough, so the cultists naturally sought after slaves of Mandalorian heritage. These were his people whom they had taken captive; what better motive to support our revolt then to free his race from the oppression of slavery?"_

_"Jango was never one to do a job for purely sentimental reasons," he muttered. "Then again, every man has his weakness."_

_She reared up indignantly, suddenly resuming the presence and command of her recently acquired title of Queen. "Jango was not weak," she stated, her voice ringing against the crystal pavements, like icicles shattering upon diamonds._

_"Ah, so you became acquainted with his fighting style, after all. I wondered about that when I saw you in the beskar'gam." He turned back to the landscape, his shadow bouncing off the reflective panels of the palace walls. It was called "The Palace of Mirrors" for a reason. The structure was hewn from the mountainside, the interior coated with plates of native crystalline sheets – the result was so phenomenal that when a dignitary from KDY came to visit the planet months later, he was so enamored by it that he had a replica erected on his own homeworld. "I was thinking about hiring him to give you a few training sessions later this year, actually, but it seems I got some free private lessons from him. Tell me honestly, what do you think of him?"_

_What did she think of him? She had had many assistant instructors besides her own Master, many of them non-Jedi. As a youngling, she had trained under Katma Malub. Jacen had taken her all across the galaxy, to the Taikaido Masters lurking in Wild Space, to Mandalorians who still held fast to their ancient warrior traditions, Trandoshan mercenaries, Corellian brawlers, Wookiee warriors, Rattatak gladiators, Rodian cutthroats, Clawdite assassins…she had learned from all the greats. She had learned from the others strength and agility, cunning and flexibility, power and endurance…but what had Jango taught her?_

_"He's…different from you," she began. "He fights…cold. He doesn't seem to care what happens to his enemies, what he must do to achieve his goal…as long as it is achieved in the end."_

_"I meant in strategy," he said abruptly. "What's his style?"_

_"You've seen him fight," she said simply._

_"And what did you learn from him?" he persisted._

_"That I don't need…that I don't always need certain people in my life." She gulped, her voice failing her. It was hard to say such words, but she knew it was the truth. She did not need Jacen anymore…but that did not mean that she did not_ want _him_. Because I _do_ want him; I want him to never leave my side, to be as undyingly loyal to me as I am to him. He is so close – only inches from my side – yet he is still so far away, so distant. I…I just wish that distance would be closed, that he would take me into his arms, that this freezing cold will be melted by his fire…_"That eventually, I will have to learn to be on my own. He taught me what it takes to be a leader, what it takes to be independent."_

_"So what you're saying is, you don't need me anymore," he said bluntly. She opened her mouth to disagree, but he whirled and pressed his hand to her lips before she could speak. His fingers did not forcibly press her words back into her throat – it was the mere fact that she felt his smooth, soft hand against her mouth that rendered her tongue speechless. It annoyed her that he so easily captivated her with his unaffected charm and artless seductiveness, but then again she secretly _liked_ the feeling of being conquered by him. "Shhh, it's okay; that's what I was hoping to hear. It's nothing bad, Adriaan; it just means that my baby girl is growing up."_

_Normally, if anyone dared to call her "baby", "sweetcake", "darling", "angel", "sugar-pie" or anything alone the lines of an affectionate form of address, he would have been sucking liquidized food from a tube hooked up to his guts because his broken jaw would have to be wired shut for at least three months. But her Master was allowed certain liberties she did not grant to anyone else. He was special to her._

_His hand suddenly relieved the pressure from her mouth, a finger absentmindedly straying to stroke her lower lip. She gulped to disguise her soft intake of breath. "Aw, come on, my blond masseuse, admit you missed me," he said, his fingers meeting beside her mouth to playfully tweak her cheek. Again, if anyone else had taken such a liberty they would have had to get all their appendages replaced with prosthetics. But Jacen was not just anyone._

_Had she missed him?…an incredible question. Missed him? Could a Jedi use the Force? Her Master was as integral to her as breathing; he had been the person who had inspired her to be something, to put her talents to use. He had been the one who had made her aware of the fact that she actually had talents to nurture. During their separation, there had not been one day when she hadn't thought of him, that she hadn't looked twice at a shadow wondering if it was he, that he had finally found her…in every person she came in contact with, she saw a resemblance of Jacen. Every smile, every flash of teeth was evocative of his mocking grin. Had she missed him? "Miss" was an understatement._

_His absence had been augmented by the discovery she had made in the precious microseconds before they had parted to complete their separate objectives of the overall mission. It was a discovery of something greater than just an emotion – it was the discovery of a way of life, a world she had not known her heart had taken root in. She reached out to his mind in the Force to see if what she had discovered had not faded from a lengthy separation. To her eternal bliss and pain, she realized now that the feeling – the existence – of love for him had matured from a mere spark to a roaring furnace, feeding away at the hope and passion in her heart._

_She was aware now that the strange attraction to the Mandalorian had been a passing emotion, a silly girl's fantasy – but _this_ was _real_. She had admired Jango as a soldier obsesses over his seemingly omnipotent captain; for her Master, it was a sentiment which sprang from an innate admiration for an instructor – someone who had reached a level she herself strove to achieve – but over the years it had covertly blossomed into something deeper and more complexly simple. When she had left him, it had been with the silly affection of a gawky girl, but that immature infatuation had developed into the love of a woman. Sorrow and care had marked her, but she was still whole and pure – and all his. She was something men since time immemorial strove to possess: a precious, flawless, untouched gift._

_And she – that unspoiled, vestal gift – was all his._

_"I do not wish to hurt you," he had said much later. "I see the future, and I am afraid; I see your death, your blood on my hands. I do not know why you gave up Goba Shag, why you gave up the crown – you would have made a splendid Queen. Nor do I even know why you did not follow the bounty hunter – do not lie, I know you had impressed him, and that he had offered to take you as his protege – for you have the mentality and potential to be an excellent bounty hunter. The life of the Jedi is not for you; they judge you on a biased scale. No matter how hard you try, they will find you flawed, for the prophesy dragging at your destiny weighs you down with faults that should not be attributed to your own design. It is only because of me that you stay, but how can you linger with a person who has and only will make you suffer? How can you stand to serve an Order which anticipates your failure?"_

_She saw the future also, and the future shrouded her Master in the mists. A black shadow obscured him, and she realized the shadow came from herself. She then knew that she would eclipse him, hide him from the galaxy…or surpass him. She did not yet know the origin of the syzygy._

_And she sensed not fellow Jedi, but T-masks, thousands of Mandalorian visors…_

_"Because I would rather be burned by being too close to the fire than stand back and shiver in the cold," she replied at last._

She was sucked into the warmth of the ship, but was not greeted by his breath on her neck, his tears on her face, the warm impassioned embrace of a lover. She had never received it, had never felt it. She knew nothing but the chill that ill-replaced the heat her imagination sought…He was cold. So were the black T-masks, but for some reason the firearms the two warriors wielded made the wraithlike figures more frighteningly real…

* * *

The clone turned slowly, not a trace of fear shimmering in his countenance. "What's going on here, gentlemen?" he asked casually, his hands resting on his hip holsters.

The lieutenant motioned with his blaster. "Hands up where I can see them," he barked.

Rez sighed prodigiously. "Couldn't you see them where they were before?" he quipped, but he obeyed the officer at Jordin's urging.

_Rez, now is not the time to be a wiseguy._

_"Relax, kid; neither of us have done anything illegal. We'll be fine."_

"Cuff him," the officer said to his henchmen, and one of the policemen came forward. The clone huffed and puffed but did not resist, allowing the officer to cuff his hands behind his back. Jordin wanted to reach out to him, to let him feel her reassuring hand on his arm, but a heavy hand clapped on her shoulder and pulled her away. She turned and looked up into the eyes of a security guard.

"Stay calm; you're safe now, miss," the man said.

"Safe? I was never in danger –" Jordin retorted, but no one was listening to her. Their attention was diverted at the entrance of a tall, handsome young man as he shouldered his way through the numerous bar patrons, his keen blue eyes gleaming with malicious triumph.

"Good work, men; this is the one," he said.

Rez, even from his humble position of prisoner, nevertheless managed to look down on the well-muscled man, who was far from short-statured. His brownish-blond hair was gelled into spikes, giving him a fierce demeanor. "Do I know you?" Rez asked calmly. Jordin watched from a distance, noticing the contrast in the two men. Blond and pale but equal in stature and strength, the high school jock glared eye-to-eye with the dark-skinned soldier.

"My girlfriend may have mentioned me in passing," the man replied cooly, without batting an eye.

The clone blinked but otherwise did not react. Then he leaned forward, like a dog tugging at its leash. Jordin sensed his heartrate escalate._ Calm down, Rez; it's okay._ "Synta's mine now, kid; you had your chance to win her, but you left her for the scum on the streets, where luckily I found her before some no-good pirates did. You know the saying, 'Finders, keepers'"

"You can cut the kriff," Synta's ex – Natavi – snapped. "A spawn from a glass vat with no citizenship status has no right to exercise the privileges you have been usurping. Thanks to the efforts of your good friend Ishall, here, I have enough evidence to get you slammed into a detention block for the rest of your life, with scum such as yourself. Though, I must warn you that people guilty of your crimes are often ill-received by their inmates. You most likely won't die of old age in there."

So Ishall had set them up. Jordin was far from astonished.

"On what charges?" Rez said, his voice thick with fury.

Natavi's mouth split smugly, his teeth white seeds in a scarlet fruit. "On the charges of stalking and exercising power over a seventeen-year-old female Galactic citizen and fraternizing with a minor."

"'Fraternizing with a minor'?" The phrase was beyond both Rez's and Jordin's comprehension.

Natavi jerked his chin in Jordin's direction. "There's no way that kid is over the age of sixteen," he said.

"'Fraternizing'?" Rez repeated.

The guard leaned in, and the ugly words were whispered into the clone's naïve ears. Jordin – innocent, pure, befuddled Jordin – flinched; she didn't need anyone to translate, or to explain what they were talking about. She knew well what they were accusing him of, and her heart broke at the look of confusion on Rez's face, for she knew that he had absolutely no comprehension at all of what those whispered words meant. Quietly, she entered his mind and cringingly offered him a black-and-white translation. She retreated as the whites of his eyes and conquered the brown of his irises as he straightened with a sudden dignity, his tanned face shot red with puzzled fury. "We are GAR officers," he spat. "We do not have time for tactless clowning around."

"Tactless, tactless," the high school jock jeered. "I've caught you with an underage female in a cantina located on a not-so-wholesome level of Coruscant – to put it lightly – and helping along the death stick business, it turns out."

"Death sticks?" Rez sputtered. "We haven't been doing any drugs."

"Ahem." Natavi stepped forward and scooped their caf mugs off the bartop. "These are your drinks, I'm assuming."

"Ever seen caf before?" Rez snarled.

Natavi handed the mugs to a cop, who scanned the drinks with some sort of device, which began to beep alarmingly after being dunked into the fluid. The officer and the jock exchanged glances before turning to glare at Jordin and Rez. "To be exact, caf loaded with illegally procured death stick solute," Natavi said, clucking in disapproval.

"Deathsticks? What kriffing dinko put death sticks in our caf!" Rez yelled, thrashing.

_Rez, calm down,_ Jordin begged.

"Calm down?" he shouted. "How can you expect me to be calm when I can't even have a kriffing cup of caf without it being tampered by some CIS-boot-licking scum?"

"The drug in his system has clearly made the boy unstable," Natavi said to the cops. "Keep him restrained."

"I have friends who will testify to my innocence –" the clone began huffily, but the boy cut him off.

"Friends? You mean your fair-weather acquaintances you've been hanging out with in the local bars? The beings I've paid to keep you under surveillance for the past couple of weeks?" Natavi sneered. "I've been watching you ever since you've been stalking my girlfriend."

"Clearly, someone set us up," Rez growled. "I'm gonna rip off his face when I get to him –"

"REZ!" Jordin shouted, drowning out his threat. She knew Ember did not allow his men to idly threaten civilians, no matter how scummy they were. Besides, she saw the Quarren cringe at Rez's words, his slimy hands moving to shield two transparisteel vials…

"There! The Quarren! Stop him!" Jordin said.

"I found these death stick tubes by the mugs, officers!" Ishall yelped, tossing the vials to the floor as if they were red-hot coals. The tubes splattered into a gazillion fragments as they hit the tiles.

The clone turned, his face purple with furious betrayal. _No, Rez, stop; calm down. We don't need resisting arrest added to the charges they're putting on your record,_ Jordin pleaded, but his anger had erected the barriers in his mind, shutting her out from his thoughts, and he did not hear her.

Her Force-augmented sight saw every individual muscle in his back and neck and arms swell, the veins popping out from his skin, perspiration straining from his pores. He leaned forward, his eyes bloodshot, his white teeth drawing blood from his lower lip as he snarled at the quailing Quarren, like a nek battle dog that had just cornered a womp rat.

Rez! He did not hear her; he would not hear her, he willed himself to become deaf to her…she watched in horror as he jerked away from the guard, barreling towards the Quarren.

_I am going to _kill_ this scum like a slug_! He said then, his voice roaring in her brain.

She stared, petrified, her arms dangling helplessly at her sides. She was not coordinated enough to lift them up in time to stop him.

_But you do not need your arms to use the Force,_ a voice whispered in her mind.

She looked upon the scene as if standing behind a pane of transparisteel. She was not part of the action; she was simply an observer, a witness. But the voice in her head spoke the truth; she did not need her arms. Nor her legs, as Eris had taught her; nor her eyes, as her coma had taught her; and Adriaan had not needed her hands to save her life, so long ago on Umbria…

_"Jordin!" Kan screamed. He fell to the ground, and she didn't know why. It made her falter in her sprint towards that strange gold-armored man; had Kan been wounded?_

_No, not wounded; she saw the gleam of the detonator curve like an ominous satellite through the gray sky; it glittered in the gloom that marked daytime on Umbria. Alarmed, she redoubled her speed, hoping the explosive would sail right over her._

_But the man in gold was clever; he had timed it to fall short, so her efforts to get away only made her fall deeper into his snare…_

_"JORDIN!" Now Adriaan's voice joined Kan's, but their calls seemed to come from far away. Their voices were drowned by the horrid clunk as the det hit her on the head…_

_And she stumbled…_

_And she fell…_

Here comes the bang, _she thought,_ this is the end; it's going to blow my head off…

_As her face hit the dirt, she saw the eyes of her Master, yellow-blue in the monochromatic landscape. Her hands were at her sides, but the glitter of the det was reflected in her pupils; she merely looked at the explosive, and it did not go off, it did not burst. It changed direction in mid-fall and was now spinning away, away…_

She stared at Rez's arms, imagined feeling his muscles ripple and pulse beneath her frail fingers. She squinted; her power surged, she saw every cell in his body straining towards the Quarren, every particle of his being filled with a red miasma of bloodlust. Her Force vision grew stronger and stronger, until she could see the spaces between the atoms which composed the walls, the bartop, the very floor beneath her feet…

A spasm itched in the corners of her narrowed eyes, and she felt her scope of vision grow wider until it encompassed the entire bar, the very beings which crowded behind her. Her left arm flung forward, her eyelids snapped back into her skull, her pupils dilated…

And Rez was lifted like a rag doll and yanked back, like a dog on a leash. He careened backward, his spine hitting the edge of the counter with a bloodcurdling crack. He doubled over and crumpled to the floor, and the frozen figures of the bar seemed to be jerked back into motion. Cops scurried, stools were bowled over, Ishall wailed and ducked behind the bar, Natavi leaped back and collided clumsily into the table behind him, Rez's security guard whirled and gripped the fallen clone by the arms; Jordin tossed her nonexistent luxuriant red locks from her face, threw her shoulders back, and flung her left arm forward, green eyes flashing.

"ELF-1374, _check_." She spoke the tardy command with such an imperious air that even Natavi paused to look at her, eyes wide.

The clone's head jerked up, his bloodshot eyes wild. Pinkish blood frothed at his lips as he coughed, his body straightening defiantly as the guard put a knee into the small of his back and hauled him upright. Jordin lurched back when she saw the agony branded on the young man's face; she had not meant to throw him that hard. Indeed, she had not realized she was even capable of such power. Something had seemed to have taken hold of her at that moment; she had not felt altogether in possession of herself. Had it been merely instinct that had taken over, or something else?

The look Rez gave her as the cops hustled him out the door was an expression of such pure voiceless incredulous betrayal that she involuntarily burst into tears.

"Add resisting arrest and attempting to murder a civilian to the list of misdemeanors," Natavi said with a prodigious sigh. Indifferently, he turned away from the clone and inclined his head superciliously at the Padawan. "I wasn't aware that you are a Jedi," he said. His blue eyes gleamed maliciously as he looked her up and down, his gaze reminiscent of Ishall's in the way he stared at her as if he was assessing her value on the slave market. He leered smugly, as if he could see right through her robes. It made Jordin's gut squirm. "Thank you for assisting in the arrest of this predator. According to galactic law, as a minor you were naturally under the influence and power of this creature, and as a result the charges of illegal drug use do not apply to you. I assure you this man will pay for the harm he has done to you."

"He has done no harm to me," Jordin said, a haughty tone she did not know she possessed sneaking into her voice. She clumsily pulled her robe closer, shaking the tears from her face. Tears would not help Rez; what he needed was a placid spokesperson. "I am his commanding officer, and a Jedi, and I attest to the fact that even if he had wanted to, he wouldn't have been able to influence me to do anything. As his commanding officer, I am responsible for his behavior."

"Of course." Natavi waved his hand as if he were swatting away a fly. "However, according to galactic law – and I mean no disrespect, miss – you do not have the capacity to give your full consent to…collude with this criminal. Furthermore, according to his profile, he was assigned to care for you after you were diagnosed with a severe traumatic injury. As a recently comatose patient who has just been released from the hospital, you are hardly fit to make your own decisions in matters of –"

"I _am_ fit to make my own decisions," she snarled. "And I have decided to accompany ELF-1374 to the police station, where I can clear up this…_misunderstanding_."

"The assertions of a child victim and recently comatose patient can hardly be valid," Natavi growled.

_How does he know I was recently in a coma?_ "Quite right," Jordin remarked. "That is why I am going to contact my Commanding Officer, General ell Talaan, as well as respected Jedi at the Temple, who can testify to Rez's moral rectitude."

The boy paled. His mind was transparent to Jordin; she realized that he hadn't counted on a mere clone having influential friends on Coruscant. Natavi played the part of a cool jock, but it was all a veneer to mask his terror. He had taken a dangerous gamble by attempting to frame an innocent man who was friends with the Jedi, and Jordin was confident that if she got the Jedi involved, they would be able to refute whatever false evidence Ishall and Natavi conjured up.

"That is hardly necessary," Natavi began, but the cop holding Jordin corrected him.

"Actually, it is extremely necessary that witnesses be produced. In fact, whether she wants to or not, we are bringing her to the police station to ask her a few questions," the officer said.

Jordin's green eyes stabbed at Natavi's blue irises. _Your game is up; if this was a clumsy attempt at getting revenge, you have failed,_ she said into his mind. His lips turned chalk-white, and his pale hands began to tremble. She did not speak arrogantly; she knew it was the naked truth.

"Come," the police officer said, tugging her by the arm. She stumbled after him, keeping her gaze focused on Synta's ex.

_You will never win; whatever evidence you have invented, the Jedi forensics team is the best in the galaxy, and they will discover its inauthenticity. You are nothing but a petulant child; a real adult would have accepted the consequences and moved on. And even if you had succeeded at putting Rez in prison, did you really think you would have gotten Synta back? She is out of your reach now._

Her gaze pierced his mind, his heart, his very tenebrous soul, and he shrank from her touch. He lowered his eyes and sank onto a bar stool, but her attack was relentless. She pierced his brain, discovered the origin of the darkness in his heart. She pulled back the veil concealing his sins and exposed them to his heart, revealed him for what he was: a boy steeping in a black mire of crimes.

His pale, malicious blue eyes faded to grey. He put his head in his hands and suddenly burst into a flood of tears.

The police officer holding Jordin, alarmed at Natavi's behavior, raised his CO on the comm. The lieutenant came running back into the bar.

"Sir, what is it?" he asked of the weeping boy.

"He's innocent!" Natavi gasped.

* * *

The Jedi stopped hammering the minds of the two prisoners as she heard a great cry through the Force. An icy sense of foreboding washed over her, a feeling of an impending danger. But just as suddenly, the feeling passed, leaving her to grasp shreds of an echoing pain and loneliness. The sound was familiar; it was the scream that slashed her heart to pieces when the one she loved had been torn from her arms even as the swiftly fading warmth of his lips reignited as her living mouth touched his and stole his last breath. Even now the taste of that dying breath tingled on her tongue, trembling with the bittersweet fragrance of moonlight, starlight, salty balmy ocean spray, the warmth of dusk on escaping from Eclipse lilies, the musky incense of embers…

But that was long ago. She took a swig of the caf she held in her hand, inhaling the smokily fruity aroma of the creamy liquid. The earthy flavor of the drink was redolent of the biting tang her memory tasted, the steam evocative of the fading warmth her thoughts embraced.

The Scream she had heard was the sound of mental suffering, an angst-ridden shriek of suffering and regret and heartbreak. The echoes resonating in her ears came from the depths of her heart. She thought the Scream had ended years ago, but in truth she had merely shut the doors on the noise. The echo had thrown the gates wide open, unleashing the horror from within.

She looked at her two victims, who sat vulnerable yet defiant. There were thousands of ways in which she could break them; she had been advised to use the "emotional love" technique. A logical tactic: the pair were clearly partners, had an emotional attachment to each other. She analyzed them keenly, and sat back when the glitter of metal encircling a finger on the woman's left hand confirmed her assumption. If she threatened to harm the woman, how long would it take for the man to snap and reveal their secrets? They were a tenacious lot – warriors since birth; no doubt they had been handling firearms from an early age – but even the toughest would break at the sight of a loved one being tortured.

But she tasted the Scream rising from her heart to her esophagus, and she could not wish that shriek to be replicated in even the most vile of beings. She would not give anyone that pain.

Mind-trick-boarding was more agonizing for the individual, but the physical pain would save them from the Scream. She would spare them that suffering.

"Take the woman away," she said to the soldier who stood at attention behind her. Her erratically omniscient Master had always said – and the Knight's experiences confirmed her mentor's apothegm – that what women lacked in physical strength they made up in incredible mental power; men were variably bigger and fitter, but had minds that were more easily distracted. She would use this to her advantage.

As the soldier escorted the woman out, the Jedi stood up and strode to the man, connecting to him hand to hand, eye to eye, mind to mind.

_You will tell me what you know,_ she said.


	7. Chapter 6: Preparations

**_Su'cuy! _I believe it's been a few months since I last got on fanfiction; my apologies for neglecting you all! I've been pretty busy lately, with mid-terms and college applications and essays and a new addition to my myriad of siblings (Well, not really quite so many brothers and sisters; more like half a dozen :P) The newest is a little boy and he's uber-cute. So, as you can see, my attention has been occupied by a variety of things. Hopefully I'm getting set for another writing marathon. Feels like it; I have all these ideas bouncing around in my head and tons of segments of chapters scribbled in notebooks scattered across the house…I'm usually more organized than that but lately I've been doing a lot of "inspired" writing. Basically my emotions have been fueling and directing the pen for me, so I've sort of been writing chapters out-of-sequence (which is normally not my style; I've always been pretty strict about writing everything in chronological order, or the plots just end up in a jumble and it's a hassle trying to tie them all together) Luckily the plot is pretty straightforward in this book, so I'm not likely to get lost. **

**Anyhow, enough of my ramblings. I see since I last got on everyone's been updating their stories, and I think I've even picked up a few more fans. As usual, comments are welcome and your support is appreciated. I hope everyone enjoys this chapter! The title explains the content of chapter 6? Right now I'm in the process of editing chapter 7 (which is pretty awesome, if I say so myself) so expect another update fairly soon.**

**Also, if you have not voted yet, please go to my profile and let me know who your favorite characters are! That way, you'll be able to read more chapters from your favs' POVs.**

**_Mando'a _Phrases**

_Shabla auretiise! - _fairly impolite; basically means "screwed up cowards/foreigners"

_Kandosii, vod'ika. - _well done, little brother

_Beroya - _bounty hunter

_Kote lo'shebs'ul narit! - _minus the profanities, this phrase basically means "you can keep your glory"

_Mir'sheb - _smartass

[What the/where the]_ haran - _hell

_**Oya! **_**(Let's roll!)**

**

* * *

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Chapter 6

"_Check it out…we just kicked your butts _and_ we were wearing _skirts_ when we did it!" - _ARC trooper.

✶ The _Fortitude_, 1200, 407 Days ABG ✶

Kan and Adriaan stepped off the cruiser into the docking bay of the _Fortitude _to be greeted by the Varactyl Clan, whose members stood grinning amongst a foreign cadre of troopers. As a security detail rushed on board to escort the two prisoners to the detention block, Kan's Master marched toward the landing party with a cocky air of familiarity.

One of the clones, whose white armor was decorated with alternating slashes of orange and black, raised his rifle at the Jedi as they approached. "Hold on, you'll need to give the GAR security codes before I can let you pass," he said in a voice that had an odd ring to it, as if he were mocking Kan's Master.

Adriaan whipped out her officer ID and flung it at him. With astounding reflexes he caught it before it collided with his breastplate. "Satisfied, you gropo?" she grunted.

Some of the others began to flank them, keeping their blasters trained on Adriaan. Kay and the other Padawans looked on grimly.

"Never seen you before, so don't even pretend you recognize us," the orange clone said.

Kan himself had never laid eyes on soldiers like these before. They were plated in armor that looked like it could take a much harder beating than the regular gear could, yet at the same time it had a unique streamlined quality that gave it a more sophisticated look than the generic trooper kit. The Mandalorian T-visor was less evident in the helmet's design, and from some of the head fins there hung boldly colored plumes. In addition to the foreign insignias marking each trooper, they each sported an asymmetrical shoulder pad, and synthleather skirts which hung from their belts to their calves.

Adriaan strode boldly up to a clone with a perturbing cyclopian eye in the center of his helmet and poked him in the chestplate. "How do you like your Commando armor, Storm?" she asked with a grin.

"That's not Storm, that's Cor," a guy with a Grievous skull tattooed on his helmet piped up.

"Nice try, Cor, but I remember you wanted a General Grievous skull on your next set of armor," Adriaan said, jabbing the Grievous-skull clone in the stomach. She jerked her chin at the skirt. "How do you like them skirts, girls?" she drawled.

"These _kamas _work like a charm; we tested them on Drag," a soldier with a purple cross slashed across his mask said.

"What are kamas for?" Kan inquired.

"Deflecting low-flying shrapnel and jetpack downwash," a clone in ebony armor set aflame with red and yellow paint grunted.

"They deflected Drag without a problem," a clone whose eggshell white armor displayed a mesmerizing metallic gold pattern quipped.

"Hah. Very funny," a soldier with sinuous dragons tattooed on his shoulder pads and helmet growled.

"I see your venture was a success." Kay indicated the retreating figures of the Mandos.

"Don't everyone thank me all at once," Adriaan snorted, folding her arms across her chest. "Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies, I have some angry Mandalorians to interview…"

"It is SOP for an officer to have an interrogation specialist presiding over the interview of the POWs," the trooper with the red flames on his armor piped up.

"And that would be the handsome young chap in the blue and silver armor, no?" Adriaan said lightly, indicating an awkward soldier hovering at the edge of the group.

"It would be Drag, actually," a trooper in armor shockingly reminiscent of Atoya's said, stepping forward. "He's the spec ops man."

"You and Vyto would be equally qualified," the trooper in the dragon armor protested. "After all, you're a shadow trooper; part of the black ops."

"I'm a medic; I have to preside anyway," the purple-cross soldier spoke up.

"Helmets off, gentlemen," Adriaan said, passing her hand over her eyes. "All this shiny new paint is giving me a headache."

"Speaking of headaches," Grievous skull said, popping off his helmet to reveal red-tinted irises,"I would like to thank Wolf for getting rid of that horrendous blue and black paint pattern."

"I rather liked that pattern," the camoed soldier – Wolf – argued. "It was designed to make battle droid eye sensors overheat."

"It did more than make battle droids overload," a clone with a Varactyl decal above the T-visor said, "it made your poor brothers' eyes water just looking at you."

"The camo paint is fitting for a shadow trooper, anyhow," Wolf said hastily. He obviously didn't like his brothers criticizing his artistic style.

"What's with the new armor, anyhow?" Kan asked. He had only recently mastered the skill of recognizing the troopers by paint insignias. Now he would have to start all over.

"We had a complete arsenal revamp," the flame-marked trooper, Ember, explained. "Promotion requires an entire new wardrobe."

"We're not just regular troopers anymore; we're Enforcing Front Line Commandos, and we need the right kit to execute the job properly," a trooper in gold and black paint said.

"I'm totally jealous," Kay said aside to Kan.

Adriaan heard. "Well, now that you mention it, Kay, I do recall ordering new uniforms when I sent in the form for the commando kit," she said. "If you ask Commander Tem, I'm sure he'll check the ship inventory to see if the shipment arrived with the commando gear."

"You ordered us new uniforms?" Several Varactyl Clan voices chirped excitedly. Jedi so rarely got presents of any kind, and here Adriaan was, fitting them with an entire new kit, from clothes to lightsabers.

"We're all beginning to look a little raggedy," Adriaan admitted. "I like my brigade to look trim and tidy. I've always been sort of a neat freak."

"We do not merit these largesses –" Andora began, but Kay and Marya – the other females in the squad, who would never turn down an opportunity to get fresh, stylish new clothes for free – interrupted before she could protest any further.

"Thanks, Adriaan!" the two girls said loudly and swiftly, hastily bowing and galloping off in the direction of the bridge to find Commander Tem.

"WICKED!" the Wicked Club screamed. To Adriaan's astonishment, Aedan sprang to her side and hugged her around the waist before tramping off after his club members, shrieking at the top of his lungs. The Shi'Odo – who had never gotten used to the Spartan lifestyle of the Jedi – morphed into a Lightningite and quickly caught up with Marya and Kay. Andora stood like a stalwart rock holding out against the lazy drag of the tide, looking ridiculous as she sermonized to a group of Padawans who were no longer present.

Kan looked to his Master, who nodded and made a shooing motion in the direction of his peers. Taking Andora by the arm, he strode off after them.

It was just Adriaan and the clones now.

"I'd better get started," the Jedi Knight said, whirling to go. "Vyto, you're with me, of course. Did we decide who's going to be the official interrogation expert?"

She felt her boys' unease ripple through the Force like a chilly breeze. Drag and Wolf were engaged in a staring contest, each willing the other to surrender and fill in the position. She didn't blame their reluctance; no one wanted to be present at an interrogation. It could get nasty. Nevertheless, she was a bit surprised at their hesitation; she had never before seen any of her men hesitate to volunteer before. In fact, they nearly always fought over assignments.

"I'll fill in." Of all people, it was Storm who spoke. But she honestly couldn't see a better person to fill in the position. A jet trooper and the new squad tactician, he was known for his calm, calculating disposition. He was a strategist, a Type B personality, with a natural distrust of non-clones. She hadn't heard him speak more than a handful of sentences in the year she'd known him. He was perhaps the most Jangoesque clone she had ever met; he was so poised it was unnervingly contagious.

"You're a jet trooper, not an interrogator," Cor argued.

"And I'm a Jedi, not a soldier. Yet here I am, a General of a GAR brigade," Adriaan remarked. She nodded at Storm. "Follow me."

* * *

Kan strode down the corridor of the Varactyl Clan's section of the barracks to the sound of a dozen surprised and delighted squeals penetrating closed doors and bouncing off the walls. He grinned, listening to the excited chatter of the Clan females as he passed their quarters. Apparently Adriaan hadn't skimped on their new gear. As he rounded the corner and hurried with no small amount of eagerness to his quarters, a door to his right hissed open, allowing several small blue shapes to cannonball into him. He was knocked head over heels but stopped his erratic flight path and landed catlike on his feet, holding his arms out to keep the Wicked Club from suffocating him. "Whoa, kids, what's the big deal?" he said, half-amused at their high-pitched ecstatic screaming.

"She got them! She finally got them!" Heatrian the Pyronite howled, magma frothing from his lips as he capered around Kan, showing off a trim lime-green lava-proof armorweave full-body jumpsuit. The lava-being had always been partial to the color green, but unfortunately clothes that could withstand his incredible body temperature were hard to come by. As a result, he had been forced to wear the same garments for over a year, and the bright emerald hue of his outfit had been blackened to a vomit green by ash and lava flares. Kan could see that Adriaan had gotten him an incredibly expensive heatproof armor suit that was flexible enough to accommodate the fluid anatomy of the Pyronite. Unlike his original outfit, this one was more streamlined in design and sported a full helmet, which was devised to minimize damage inflicted by the perpetual fluctuations in Heatrian's body temperature.

"The paint is camouflage! WICKEDLY watch!" Heatrian shouted, solidifying into a semi-hardened state. As he coagulated into black obsidian, the suit shimmered and darkened, blending into his "flesh" tone.

"Wizard," Kan breathed. He wouldn't have minded having a suit like that, himself.

"And we got these WICKED skirmish jumpsuits!" Aedan screamed, halting abruptly so Kan got a full view of his new outfit.

He was a little surprised. She had completely discarded the traditional, bulky Jedi robes in favor of figure-conforming, militarized flightsuits. The material was memory-armorweave, hugging the contours of the person so that it gave the appearance of being custom-tailored. The light armorweave would protect against smaller shrapnel and debris – those sharp, flaming bits were responsible for the majority of casualties, so the new suits would obliterate the need to constantly duck and dodge through the battlefield, costing the Jedi precious time. Jahn Pal and Sai'wer had donned the dark grey stiff leather skirts which the ELF Commandos were now wearing. Kamas, Kan believed they were called.

"GOODS, take those GOOD girly things off," Aedan commanded, noticing the kamas at the same time Kan did.

Andre emerged from their quarters, twirling his kama as if it were some sort of sling weapon. "I can't believe GOOD old Adriaan thought we would wear these," he commented, flinging a withering glance in the cousins' direction. The two blonds stuck their thumbs in their mouths and took no notice of the sneers their companions offered them.

The flightsuits came in various colors, to suit each Padawan's preference. Aedan's was an aqua blue, Andre's was red, Heatrian's was green. Kay strode out of her room clothed in a flattering fuchsia jumpsuit and indicated Kan's room several doors down. "Go on, try yours on," she said. "She gave us three different sets of outfits – I think we're supposed to wear one of the other ones while en route, but I like these flightsuits the best."

Kan stepped into the room he shared with Klamin. The Shi'Odo was standing almost completely naked in front of a mirror, holding a gossamery-grey garment out at arms' length. He barely glanced in Kan's direction as the Padawan strode to his bed, where three sets of clothing had been neatly laid out.

"She actually got the chameleon-skin sept-armor cloth," the Shi'Odo said, poking a bare toe into the shimmering material. As he morphed into a dark-skinned human, the grey stuff darkened and browned until it slid into the exact skin tone of the shapeshifter. He shrugged the suit all the way onto his leg, shapeshifting into a green-skinned Falleen as he did so. The jumpsuit quickly followed suit. "Amazing stuff. It must have cost her a fortune." His voice was quiet, in awe.

"The money came from your account," Kan reminded him. The Shi'Odo had done a brief stint serving as an advisor to the Queen of the Syleeto system before joining the Varactyl Clan. Obviously, working in the royal court had its benefits – one of them a hefty salary.

"Oh, don't worry, I wasn't exactly going to drop to the ground and kiss her smelly feet in gratitude," the Shi'Odo muttered, a weird yellow glint coming into his eyes as he pulled the rest of the suit on. The Padawan turned, shuddering involuntarily, remembering his strange conversation with Adriaan before they had interdicted the Mando vessel.

"She had quite a few interesting things to say about you pre-interdiction," he commented lightly, trying to draw some sort of reaction from his companion. Klamin was the closest friend he had in the Varactyl Clan ever since Jordin had been removed from active duty, so it had greatly surprised him when Adriaan had told him about her mishap with the Shi'Odo. The shapeshifter was more closemouthed than he seemed.

Adriaan certainly hadn't skimped on the Varactyl's new wardrobe. Though Kan found her too taciturn and two-faced to develop any close relationship with her, he sincerely hoped she had outfitted herself as well as she had geared her Padawans. Three outfits, and one of them was a body glove with gription panels designed to hold the clone armor plates stacked neatly beside the clothes. Kan picked up the chestplate and held it up to his body. The kit was sized down to fit his smaller frame. It was even marked with his regiment's insignia – a green krayt dragon. Green and grey paint, to set his armor apart from the clone troopers' standard gear.

He picked up the adapted clone trooper helmet, staring into the baleful eyes of the krayt dragon head rearing over the T-visor. He never been fond of clones, nor had he ever considered himself a soldier, but he was strangely pleased and excited about his new gear. He picked up the black shiny boots from beside the bed and barely concealed a squeal of delight when he discovered the space in the leather meant to conceal a lightsaber shoto or other small weapon. He could now hide a dagger-size Jedi weapon in his boot – what teenage male wouldn't be excited by that?

"She gave me a washed-out grey," Klamin said from behind, tossing a dishwater-colored pauldron onto Kan's bed, where it connected with the green plates with a solid _clunk. _

"You could always repaint," Kan said, puckering his lips in distaste at the wishy-washy color.

"Nah, I like it. Favorite color."

_Aliens_. Kan smiled, slightly baffled.

"I heard the report. Adriaan would have been in a mess back there if she hadn't brought you along. Just as I predicted; she couldn't handle that objective by herself," the Shi'Odo continued, his voice muffled by the body glove he was attempting to put on.

Kan put the armor plates down. He didn't particularly want to be reminded of what had happened on the Mando ship. He hadn't exactly used a gentle method to extract the suicide pill from Rune. Even now the sound of her violent retching filled his ears, the smell of her bile lingering in his nostrils…

_"_Shabla auretiise_!" she spat, heaving up enormous quantities of half-digested food at the Jedi's command. It was a cruel but necessary method to purge her bowels of the poison. It had to be done. _

_ As the woman wretched on the floor, Adriaan hauled Atoya by the scruff of the neck as if he were merely a child, and not nearly twice her size. "_Kandosii, vod'ika,_" she said. "Hang on while I get this kriffing dinko secured in the detention cell I know they have somewhere on this ship. No _jate beroya _– that's 'good bounty hunter' – ship is without one."_

_ "What's up with the Mando'a?" Atoya spluttered, his chest heaving as his dark gaze locked on Rune. Kan could sense the worry rippling off the man like a tempest. _

_ "Thanks for completely wrecking my ship – GAR procurement is going to be mad about that," Adriaan said, ignoring the warrior's question. She suddenly leaned in, her lips grazing the man's ear. "Don't worry, _beroya, _we wouldn't dare bring in half-intact prisoners for interrogation. Your girlfriend will be safe…_if_ you cooperate."_

_ Rune raised her head a centimeter from the floor, her face swimming in her own vomit. "_Kote lo'shebs'ul narit!_" she yelled defiantly._

_ Adriaan tutted disapprovingly. "Didn't your mother teach you manners?" she asked, hustling Atoya away._

_ "_Mir'sheb,_" Rune muttered when she thought the Jedi was out of earshot. Unfortunately for her, Adriaan was never out of earshot._

_ "Yes, I am a _mir'sheb, _and I'm proud of it," Adriaan called from over her shoulder. "But let me tell you, you'd rather deal with me than with some of the kids in my Padawan clan – now _those _kids have _mir'sheb _down to an art." _

He looked at the last two outfits. The flight suit was obviously for light combat situations, made of flexible armorweave with a plastoid alloy reinforcement in the upper body area. A navy blue jacket with silver epaulettes and a matching kama were obviously to be worn over the jumpsuit so that the outfit could function as a mess dress – a semiformal uniform.

"Don't pay attention to anything she says about me," the Shi'Odo said suddenly, picking up the conversation that Kan had attempted to initiate several minutes ago. "She's a pathological liar."

"You know, it's okay to admit that you _used _to like her; you have to face facts sometimes, Klamin, even when the facts aren't very pretty," Kan said, trying on the flightsuit for size. Military-style suits were never his style, but he found he was not displeased with the uniform. It fit him well, and gave him a professional, groomed appearance.

"Kan, you trust me, don't you?" the Shi'Odo asked.

The Padawan contemplated the last outfit to buy himself some time. It was a question he did not think wise to answer completely honestly. Oh, he'd trust Klamin to watch his back in a war zone any day, but there were just some things he couldn't discuss with the Shi'Odo. He was too opinionated, too biased. He was also something of a hypocrite – he acted as if Adriaan was committing a felony by being closemouthed about her past, while he had no qualms about keeping everyone in the dark about his own history. No one except Heatrian knew anything about the Shi'Odo before the Zylxxian mission, and the Pyronite was too loyal to his oldest friend to spill the beans, even to his Wicked King.

"You've never said anything to make me mistrust you," Kan said carefully.

If Klamin noticed how he hedged around the question, he didn't say anything. "Then take my word for it: nothing of consequence happened between the General and I. It was all just…misinterpreted emotions. That's all."

"Of course," Kan said, shaking out the matte black soft-fiber robes which appeared to be a Jedi tunic/Taikaido ceremonial _chatarangans _hybrid. The fabric was sept-silk soft in texture, obviously supposed to be used for ceremonial or training purposes. He shrugged off his flightsuit and slipped into the luxurious, brand-new fabric, enjoying the soft, woolen texture against his skin. It was a welcome replacement for his old sweat-stained ratty beige tunic and leggings he had grown out of over a year ago.

Klamin whistled under his breath. "Lookin' sharp, mate."

The Shi'Odo had been given dull grey robes. Kan gently pushed him out of the way so that he could observe himself in the cracked full-length mirror.

His breath caught. The Shi'Odo hadn't been exaggerating in the least. He had never worn black before, which probably explained why he never thought of himself as a particularly good-looking male specimen. But something about the somber colors of the tunic brought out the pale grey of his eyes, the contrasting darkness of his skin and hair – it even seemed to accentuate the stubble of hair sprouting across his upper lip. For the first time in his life, Kan looked…handsome. More of the man he felt in his bones than the youthful body he still miraculously possessed.

He swayed and swung his arms and legs, enjoying how the supple yet resilient fabric slid over his chapped, war-weary skin like waves of water washing over the gritty sands of a beach. Just then his wrist snagged a sharp corner on his cuff, and he heard the stiff _crackle _of flimsi. Surprised, he pulled out a small, folded note marred with his Master's tiny, uniform writing.

_It might interest you to know that I personally designed these Taikaido/Jedi hybrid outfits several years ago, to accommodate my and my Master's rather unorthodox lifestyle. These were my Master's training robes – it astonishes me to think that my own Padawan can wear my old tutor's clothes, but then you are no longer the thirteen-year-old boy I chose as my first Apprentice. I know you will wear the clothes of your Grand-Master proudly._

So these were not new robes – though the quality of the fabric stated otherwise – but a relic. He shuddered, feeling a sudden sense of frisson – to think that he was wearing the robes of a great Jedi Master! The other Apprentices would have probably found it weird to wear the hand-me-downs of a Knight, but Kan was more honored than anything else. _She probably knew that I would be the only one who would appreciate the gesture, _he realized. _So she _does _care about me, after all…_His gaze went blurry for a moment, and he hastily slapped something hot from his eye before his roommate would notice.

_Wear the clothes of your Grand-Master proudly. _Bear your lineage proudly. Bear your coat of arms proudly. That was what she meant, in giving him the robes of her tutor. Kan was the student of a splendid Taikaido warrior, who had been the youngest Jedi ever Knighted as well as the protege of the mysterious yet awe-inspiring Jacen Palgwebb. Master Palgwebb in turn had been trained by the greatest warriors of their own time. He was part of a dynasty of conquerers. His coat of arms was the insignia of Ade Verda Brigade – the Legion of the Children Warriors – and the pennant of his own regiment, the Green Krayt Dragon. He was a member of the first Padawan Clan in millennia – he was the Apprentice of a Master who was writing her own legacy among her much older Jedi peers.

It was a shame a person with so much potential and ambition would fall because she tried to erase the past.

* * *

He entered the detention block to find that the entire Varactyl Clan had assembled outside. Kay was pacing the waiting room impatiently, while the Wicked Club amused themselves by toasting foodstuffs on Heatrian's magma skin. Andora was content to sit in blank, unruffled silence, while Marya sat with a meditative scowl as if her eyes had the power to melt the cell walls.

The Shi'Odo deliberately stepped into Kay's path, but Kan had enough bruises to remind him to steer clear of the strawberry blond when she was pacing.

He was unsurprised but nonetheless flinched as Kay's cupped hand connected to Klamin's ear with a sharp _clap _that would awaken the dead. "Outta my way, Hutt-face," she growled.

"Speaking of Hutt-faces, where's the General?" Klamin asked lightly.

"Supposedly, she's in there," Marya grunted, nodding at the cell door. "Though to tell you the truth, I haven't heard a single peep come from within."

Maybe that was good news – or maybe Adriaan was using the Force to mute any screams issuing from the prisoners. It was not impossible – Klamin and Kan had done it themselves a few days ago when they had been interrogating Darc. The Padawan swallowed, looking uneasily at the grim, silent doors.

"Storm came out half an hour ago with the female," Cor reported, sliding off his helmet as he popped into view. He spit on his glove and rubbed at the Grievous skull painted on the helmet.

"Really, why?" Kay asked, doing an about-turn to face the clone.

Cor shrugged.

"She wanted to talk to the man – Atoya – alone," Ember said gruffly, as he strode in after Cor, followed by the majority of the ELF squad. "Wolf is currently interviewing Rune in a separate detention area. Interrogating the prisoners separately is a SOP designed to discriminate fact from fiction."

"I get it: that way, if one of them – say Atoya – lies so he can get out of torture, there's no way Rune would know, so she would either have to tell the truth or make up her own falsehood…unless, of course, a falsehood had already been established pre-capture," Kay said thoughtfully.

"The Captain is employing different techniques than the tactics the General has been using on Atoya, to account for that possibility. They'll be able to spot a glitch in the Intel even if both the Mandos tell the same lie," Onor said confidently.

"And how long will that take?" Kay demanded. The virtue of patience characteristic of a Jedi was lost on her.

"Well, let me see – Wolf's supernaturally efficient, and Adriaan's pet peeve is wasting time," Ammo said, swiping a cup of steaming caf from a passing service droid, "I would say they'll both be out any minute now."

Nano, his helmet on, cocked his head, as if listening. "Wolf's just commed in his report. He's heading back," he reported. As if on cue, Adriaan herself strode out of the detention area, face wan and hollow…and spattered with blood.

Heatrian looked up and screamed. "_Kumylixyyshrria!_" he yelled in some strange, clacking Zylxxian dialect. "What is that?" The Pyronite didn't have what Kan would describe as blood, and killed things by incinerating them – so it was altogether likely Heatrian had never seen blood before.

"My report," Adriaan said flatly, stacking a thick pile of flimsi. She thumbed through and began dividing the pile, spattering the material with her red fingers. "I'll feed this into the squad database. Your mission files should show up on your pads soon," she said, tapping a few keys on the datapad strapped to her forearm. The Padawans and clones circled her warily, as if cornering a wild animal.

"The prisoner?" Kay prompted, swallowing.

"Eh?" she looked up momentarily. "Oh, he's not in any pain…anymore, that is."

"He's not…_what?" _There was a mass exodus from her general vicinity. Kan felt his stomach acid curdle as his gaze locked on Klamin's frightened eyes – not even they anticipated this degree of brutality from Adriaan.

_Maybe we are right to investigate her after all…_

Gung ho, perverted Cor, eager to see the Jedi's handiwork, crashed into the detention cell. He returned moment's later, visibly deflated. He strode right up to Adriaan and tugged her on the sleeve. "There's no mark on him!" he said accusatorially.

She looked up, mildly puzzled. "I never said I left any marks," she said impatiently, her gaze drifting back down to the pad.

Cor impulsively reached down and slapped the pad away. "He's not even _dead!_" he shouted, his livid face centimeters from hers.

Now she was extremely taken aback. "What the _haran _are you talking about? Of course he's not dead. No need to get your pants in a knot over a spared life."

The rest of the squad – who did not share Cor's bloodlust – breathed a collective sigh. So Adriaan really wasn't the barbarian they had supposed her to be. Even Ember appeared relieved; no one except Cor particularly liked the idea of torturing a prisoner to death.

"Then where the _haran _did this _blood _come from?" Cor fairly screamed, pulling his hand away from her arm to reveal a blood-soaked palm.

Her eyes widened slightly, but after a moment she shrugged. "Weird; I honestly have no idea."

Vyto edged closer, examining her keenly. He stifled a rather colorful Huttese word. "It's _your_ blood," he stated, "it's seeping out of your pores. Ma'am, are you sure you're all right?"

"Sending files," she murmured. She started and looked up. "Yeah, of course, just slightly stressed out."

Vyto stepped closer and said in a lower tone, "Ma'am, hematohidrosis only occurs in a highly stressful situation. If you feel only _slightly _stressed, your body is weeping blood to warn you that something bad is going on internally. An electrolyte imbalance, possibly. I would strongly advise a medical examination before you –"

"I'm fine, Vyto," she snapped.

"You're lying to yourself if you think you're fine," the medic said firmly, folding his arms across his chest. Vyto was one of the more gentlemanly, deferential soldiers, but he could be extremely stubborn when he had to. _A sick General is a useless General, _he always said.

She stared cooly at him. "And what are _you _going to do about it if I am?" she challenged.

"Well, as squad medic, my authority in medical matters overrules your own, General, so I _could _report this and have the GAR confiscate your CO code cylinder until you are discharged from a medical center –"

Her nostrils flared. "You wouldn't dare –"

"Oh, yes, he would," Lance, who got injured often and therefore was well aware of Vyto's stubborn streak, warned.

Vyto sighed. "General, can you just tell me what's wrong?"

She lowered her eyes, then stepped in and murmured something into the medic's ear. His eyes widened, but he didn't react otherwise. After a moment he jerked his head down in a nod and stepped away. "Have you talked to a doctor about it?" he asked abruptly.

She lowered her eyes. "It's nothing a doctor can fix," she replied quietly.

Kan's comm buzzed, indicating he received a text. He flipped open the device and read from Klamin, _Wonder what that was about?_

He was about to reply, when Adriaan sent a message. _Call Jordin and request a sitrep while I finish organizing the mission objectives. _He looked at the Shi'Odo, shrugged, and stepped outside to take the call in private. Klamin edged away from the group, hovering within earshot.

Jordin didn't pick up, so he hung up and dialed again. She answered on the final buzz. "I'm kind of in a situation right now –"

"Which is probably why Adriaan told me to call you," Kan said, his stomach tightening. What could possibly be keeping Jordin busy? "What's going on?"

"Nothing I can't handle," she said, her cheery voice sounding a bit strained. Kan glanced at his chrono and did a mental calculation, realizing he had called her at 0200, Coruscant time.

"Sorry, did I wake you up?"

"I was already awake," she said abruptly. The Shi'Odo was frantically mouthing, "Jedi Archives" but Kan turned away. Why was Jordin awake at 0200? He was about to ask her, but she cut him off. "Listen, I don't have much time. I successfully acquired the information you wanted."

Kan clutched the comlink tighter, struggling to hear over the chatter of the Wicked Club. "Yes?"

"Well, I'm kind of at the police station right now because of this spat between Rez and his girlfriend's ex, but I looked up those files and I think I should go visit Goba Shag, except I don't know how I will justify taking a detour to Goba Shag to Adriaan –"

Her voice seemed to dim out, either through a faulty comm connection or because of other things on Kan's mind. "Wait, what do you mean you're at the police station? Was Rez arrested? How? Why?"

"Well…yes…no…I mean, not really –" He didn't hear her garbled explanation at all. He didn't think he had said it all that loud, but Ember seemed to have the capability to hear a fly sneeze from a kilometer off, for his ears pricked up and he stepped ever so politely yet menacingly towards Kan. "What? Rez was arrested? How? When? Why? It was that woman, wasn't it? Give me that!" He tried to snatch Kan's link away, but the Padawan quickly dodged his grasp.

"Call him yourself!" he retorted. He suddenly became painfully aware that all eyes in the group were fixed on the confrontation between the two men – it became so quiet that every breath seemed to be as loud as a starfighter engine.

The comm buzzed and crackled, occasionally vomiting out snatches of Jordin's confused, prattling voice. "Well yes, no…really, there's no trouble, just a jealous kid trying to give us a hard time…Kan?"

The squad erupted into a cacophony of bickering. Adriaan and Kay roared for silence, while Andora ineffectually stood up and began to preach in a quiet, mousy voice that no one paid any heed to. The Wicked Club began to raucously sing, "Rez and a GOOD sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" Amidst the confusion, Wolf burst into the room, shoving a comlink into Adriaan's ear.

"He's fine!" he shouted over the din. "Jordin got the kid to confess he hired some slicer's and computer geeks to doctor holos of Rez to make him look like he was –"

Adriaan put a hand over his mouth to silence him. "Rez!" she barked. "If the holos were doctored, why are they detaining you?"

"Well, ma'am, they found out I was a clone trooper and didn't have citizen papers and somehow the media got whiff of this misunderstanding so the big issue now is hushing this matter up –"

The General rolled her eyes and cursed under her breath. "I know some of the Cor-Sec officers," she said finally. She began typing furiously on her pad. "I'm sending in an executive order for the GAR to immediately terminate your furlough and send you back to the battlefront. You're going to leave in 0200 hours, so say your goodbyes and get back to the _Fortitude _pronto. The HoloNet won't be allowed to come near you. FYI, you're to take the Corellian Run instead of the Hydian hyperspace route. You are going to RV with the team I'm dispatching to Goba Shag."

There was a long pause on the other end. "G-g-g-goba Shag?" Jordin wavered. Kan and Klamin were just as astounded.

"Yes, Goba Shag," Adriaan said impatiently, not sensing her Padawans' astonishment and blissfully unaware that she was aiding them in their investigation of her past. "Take the Corellian Run and RV with the team on Goba Shag. Is that clear?"

Hardly believing their good fortune, Kan and Jordin chorused, "Perfectly."

"Good luck." Adriaan cut the transmission and strode off.

Kan opened the file on his pad as he redialed Jordin. She was up on the line in seconds. "Why are _you _going to Goba Shag?" she asked breathlessly.

He scanned the contents of the mission objective. "I'm not," he said. "Klamin and a few others are escorting Darc to his homeworld, where he will be established in long-term care at his medical facility."

"Darc?" Her voice was confused, quavered. "Who's Darc?"

"Of course, you probably don't remember him. He's Adriaan's friend…or ex-friend, I should say. You thought he was handsome," he added, quite unnecessarily, but the memory gave him a strange twinge of bitterness. _It's ridiculous to be jealous of Darc, _he told himself, _He's a nobody, and she doesn't even remember him. Besides, I'm going to be single all my life – I'm not going to make the same mistakes my Master made and become attached to someone._

But something inside him quailed. Something within his heart and body had awakened in the past month. He was changing: he heard it in his voice; he saw it in his face, his physique; he felt it in his bones. No longer was he the weak little boy with tousled hair and slightly androgynous voice – he was older and stronger and taller and sadder, shaving was now included in his early morning routine, and when he had donned the black robes of his grand-Master Jacen Palgwebb, he had looked like a Jedi Knight.

But even though he enjoyed his blossoming manhood, it was not without its pains and trials. He felt even more awkward around Adriaan than he had ever been, painfully aware that he was now taller and heavier than she. He seemed more sensitive to beauty; several times he caught himself staring at the way the sun caught and shone in Kay's red-gold hair, or the way Marya's wiry body was all sharp, muscular edges coupled with a subtle soft roundness in the face and hips and chest. And he remembered all too clearly Adriaan's words in the dark, comforting closeness of the cockpit. _"We all fall in love at some point in our lives. You are meant for a very special, lucky woman." _But there wasn't any woman for Kan – his fate was to serve others, to give his life to the billions of beings in the galaxy instead of just one. _"And how do you know _that_?" _Adriaan's voice echoed mockingly in his head. It was a question to which he had no answer.

"What happened to him?" Jordin asked innocently. Jordin had grown too; she was a woman now, dark and sad and strangely alluring. Yet she seemed unaware of her new maturity; she still loved as innocently and compassionately as ever. And she was close to the man who had watched over her in all her weeks of deep, troubled sleep, though she would never admit it. A blush seemed to come into her cheeks whenever she spoke of Rez. Did she love him? The idea did not altogether seem impossible, and it troubled Kan, though he did not know why.

"A cultist attack," he said briefly, squirming.

"A what?" she asked.

They had both grown up and had become distant. This was something he could never tell her. "Nothing," he said.

There was a pause that went on for too long. "Okay," she replied finally, nonchalantly. "May the Force be With You, Kan." Now her voice sounded harried, as if she had other things to do and needed to get off. Or…or she was hurrying to cut the transmission before Kan asked too many questions.

Kan grasped at her haste and became suspicious. Why was she in such a hurry? And why had she wanted to go to Goba Shag before the order came through? He chewed over his doubt and put the question forward. "Hey, why were you going to go to Goba Shag in the first place?"

"Uh, because the mission objective said so," Jordin said with a high little giggle that sounded just slightly nervous.

_What is she hiding? _"Before you were given your mission instructions," Kan prompted.

Another silence, this one poignant with fear and doubt. What was going on? This was not the Jordin he knew before. Jordin Skraps never kept secrets from him. She had never kept secrets from him until…until _he _had started keeping secrets from _her. Does she know? _He wondered, probing past the terror that emanated from her mind. But he couldn't delve more than skin-deep into her thoughts; he only felt her sense of dread, which served as a thick fog to mask the impenetrable fortress of her mind. Jordin Skraps was no longer effervescent and upfront; she had grown into a little Adriaan-clone, taciturn and brooding with mind unassailable. She did not _know, _nor probably even suspected Kan's guilt in Darc's illness; but she did sense that he was keeping something from her, and that made her mistrust him.

"Jordin, you can trust me," he said, allowing the Force to weave soothing thoughts through his words.

But Jordin retreated from him with a laugh. The distance between the two seemed to reach from end to end of the galaxy.

_ "Have we fallen so low we must be mind-tricked into trusting each other?" _she said reproachfully, slipping easily into his thoughts.

"Kan," she said aloud, "you recall that Adriaan spent a great deal of time on Goba Shag during her Padawan years – she had led the Six Slaves Rebellion that crushed the sith cultist pirate operation on that planet. Her profile said she was registered as a Goba Shag citizen, and claims it as her homeworld. I found something else on her profile that demands further investigation, and for that I must go to Goba Shag."

Her explanation made sense, but she was leaving little pieces out of the puzzle. "Why?" Kan persisted.

"Kan," she said slowly, "do you trust me?"

Did he trust her? Certainly not; she had become a little Adriaan-clone, and Adriaan – as Klamin pointed out – could not be trusted.

But the Jordin pre-coma he had trusted implicitly, and the Jordin post-coma hadn't yet done anything to make her lose his trust. _She's a liar, _his intuition told him, but his heart said, _give her a chance._

"You know I do," he said finally.

"Then be patient; this is merely a hunch, nothing more. If it turns out to be otherwise, you know I will contact you immediately." There was a little pause. "I hope to see you soon."

Kan swallowed the knot in his throat. "I trust you. Come back safely."

"May the Force be With You," she said, then, abruptly, "I can't wait to see you; your voice has changed. You are older."

His stomach flipped; so she had noticed too. His body reacted strangely to her words, his thoughts soared to new, bizarre heights. _I wonder if she will think I am handsome? _He suddenly found himself thinking, and unable to deal with himself, he cut the communication and fled.


	8. Chapter 7: Goodbye Forever

**_Su cuy'gar _****_vode_****_! _(Lit. "You're still alive, comrades!") Here is chapter 7, as promised. **

**And, finally, after nearly two whole books (from the last part of book 4 to the current chapter of book 6) Rez and Jordin are on a homeward-bound flight! Well, sort of…and I'm finally getting around to translating what _cyar'ika _means (in case you don't remember, Rez calls Synta _cyar'ika _in book 5, but doesn't translate because he doesn't even know what it means.) And good news; Part II of the Invasion begins in chapter 8! So stay tuned, folks; you don't want to miss out on the action!**

**_Mando'a _Phrases**

_Ori'vod - _"big sister/brother" Mando'a is not gender-specific, so _vod _has various translations, generally "brother, sister, comrade, ally". _Ori, _of course, means, "big, extreme, very" and is used as a prefix, whereas _ika _"little" is added as a suffix.

_Hukaatir kama - _the former means "to cover" and the latter basically means a "belt-spat" or back.

_Ret'urcye mhi! - _goodbye, lit. "Maybe we'll meet again"

**The funeral chant, basic translation:**

The fires of death consume us all

The weight of glory is hard to bear.

Our hearts beat as one as we march

To spill our blood for cowards.

No one cares who we are

No one cares who we'll be

No one cares for the brothers we have lost

For the sake of someone else's dream.

The fires of death consume us all

As we sweat blood for traitors

We are the slave army of a doomed Republic

But our sacrifice sets our hearts free!

_

* * *

_

Chapter 7

"_The Council has requested me to inform you of my discovery of your Padawan, Jordin Skraps, researching sensitive information in the Jedi Archives under pretense of procuring Intel crucial to the Kuat mission. While it is certainly not wicked to read documents on display to the public and sundry, her motives for looking up these files are questionable. I am not sure if action can or should be taken against your Padawan's idée fixe with your history, but I think the best that can be done is to make sure you are aware of her activities. Perhaps steps should be taken to make your students aware of the dangers of having an unwonted fascination with Haak and his affiliates, but it is not in my place to advise you on how to train your own Apprentices." – _Text communication from Madame Jocasta Nu to General ell Talaan, dated 407 days ABG. Found on Adriaan's datapad by retrieval squad following the invasion. Message marked "unread".

✶ GAR barracks docking bay, Coruscant, 408 days ABG ✶

_MISSION FILE #4: SIEGE OF KUAT, PART II_

_ TEAMS:_

_ HODASOL – General ell Talaan, Captain Wolf. Aliases Rune Kebiigaan and Atoya Hodasol._

_ GREEN DRAGON – Commander Enik, Aedan, Andre, Jahn Pal, Sai'wer, Nic, Heatrian, Andora._

_ MEDEVAC – Klamin J'Oli, Major Skipp, Vyto, Fyre._

_ TWILIGHT – Commander Lee, Commander Yon, Commander Ember, Lieutenant Cor, Sergeant Storm, Nano, Drag, Lance, Ammo, Onor._

_ According to the information disclosed by the two Mando prisoners, there is a Separatist facility operating on Kuat's moon. However, the Mandalorians stated they were not heading for the moon, but the planet's surface. Their statements were confirmed by their ship's log. This Intel strongly suggests there is cultist activity on the surface of Kuat itself, as well as on its moon. Therefore, HODASOL's objective is to discover and infiltrate a Separatist organization on Kuat, accomplishing this by posing as the Mandos now held in GAR custody. GREEN DRAGON's CO is to take charge of Invader Regiment, which is currently stationed on the KDY orbital ring. The mission of GREEN DRAGON is to reassure Kuat citizens the GAR is taking steps to avoid a Separatist attack on the naval facility, as well as monitor and suppress any cultist activity in the city. While GREEN DRAGON is a safeguard against a direct attack on Kuat, TWILIGHT will be deployed to the Kuat moon. If any Separatist facility or operation is discovered, it is imperative that TWILIGHT put the organization entirely out of commission. The MEDEVAC team has two objectives: the first is to escort the Mando prisoners to a GAR POW camp in the Mid-Rim, and the second is to see Commander Chun-be safely back to his homeworld, where he will be instituted into the care of a Goba Shag medical facility._

_ The GREEN DRAGON and MEDEVAC teams are to send in routine sitreps to the _Fortitude_. Because the nature of TWILIGHT's and HODASOL's missions require the teammembers to go behind enemy lines, they are to maintain comm silence as instructed in the GAR SOP manual (Sec. 19, paragraph 6: Black Ops SOPs). Because the CIS might detect a GAR communication within their territory, TWILIGHT and HODASOL are to keep a strict comm silence until they are back in GAR territory._

_ The Invader CO wishes you all success on your individual assignments. _Pirunir sur'haaise* _and may the Force be with you._

* - _"Make their eyes water" is slang for kill, injure, or defeat._

Jordin, her jade earrings swinging joyfully from her newly pierced earlobes, made her crooked way to the awaiting gunship. Though she could barely take a step without stumbling, there was a bounce in her walk, a remainder of the original vigor and liveliness she had had before her accident. She could very well end up with a permanent limp, and she had put her carefree childhood days aside, but she was still as optimistic as ever, though her cheerfulness was toned down by a wiser nature.

"I am eager to see Kan and the others again," she commented to her companion.

"So am I," Rez agreed, reaching out and catching her by the arm before she tripped over a utility droid and fell flat on her face. She had just recovered from head trauma, so she was in danger of second-impact syndrome; another concussion could take her life. Rez was tempted to make the girl wear a helmet all the time, though she was so headstrong he doubted he could make her do it. In one thing she had not changed: she was still as stubborn as an Aedan.

Suddenly the Padawan halted, her head swiveling so fast that an earring swung round and whacked him right in the eye.

"What is it?"

"Your girlfriend's here," she murmured teasingly.

Rez had already said his goodbyes to Synta. It pained him to think of that parting; she hadn't cried – as he had anticipated with a great sense of dread – but the compressed-lipped, pale, strained look on her face as she coldly wished him well seemed thousands of times worse than a tempest of hysterical weeping and piteously throwing herself at him and soaking his brand-new fatigues thoroughly with her tears. Oh no, she had said goodbye to him as cooly and bravely as any ideal soldier's wife would. "Come back with your shield or on it" She had accomplished the farewell nobly and splendidly, but Rez would have liked it much better if their parting had been a little less awkward and aloof.

At least she had shown genuine pleasure over his parting gift. She had squealed in delight and made a big deal out of his aesthetic tastes. "I had no idea you were such a brilliant artist!" she had exclaimed. She had given him a warm hug and a kiss on the cheek for the armor; at the goodbye she had merely shook his hand in a cold fish's grip and wished him well.

That was the last image he would have of her – sallow, taut, frigid, shaking hands as if their friendship had been nothing but a business matter. Surely she should have kissed him goodbye? Or what if…Rez suddenly had a chilling thought. What if it had been _his _responsibility to kiss _her _goodbye? It was a fact too horrible to imagine. Had she expected _him _to take it up another step? He knew so little of such things. He really should have asked Eris Akura for some advice. Eris was only a Jedi Padawan, but she seemed to understand matters of the heart better than anyone else Rez knew. _She _hadn't grudged him a few tears at their parting.

"Hah, very funny," Rez growled. Synta wouldn't be coming to see him off at the platform. Soldiers' women didn't do such things, lest it show weakness.

The earring whacked him again, this time leaving a stinging red welt across his cheek as a painful souvenir. _Curse those earrings; I really shouldn't have gotten such long dangly ones._ "Captain Rez, about face!" Jordin barked.

He automatically turned as he was bid and saw Synta standing in the shade of the platform building, kitted up in the black armor emblazoned with yellow Eclipse lilies. Her helmet was on, concealing her face, yet she stepped with obvious eagerness toward him. He halted, approving of the battered black utility boots on her tiny feet, an uglier yet more practical substitute to the sharp little heels she was accustomed to wearing.

"I can make my way to the gunship alone," Jordin murmured in his ear, and generously staggered off to give Rez a few private moments with Synta. Released from his burden, the clone raced across the platform and met his girl in the middle, wrapping his arms around her waist and hugging her tight to his chest. She worked her arms out of his embrace and popped the seal of her helmet, releasing a cascade of dusky curls that filled his nostrils with the fragrant scent of cherry blossoms. Forgotten were the strict tenets of cold, military farewells, unspoken were the encouraging words of those to be left behind, "Come back with your shield or on it" Synta's arms went round him, a warm raindrop fell on his neck, and now that their mutual grief was all released and out in the open their hearts were somehow the lighter for it.

After a moment, he released her and held her at arms' length, allowing his eyes to soak in the beauty of her twilight hair gleaming carmine in the rosy dawn, her russet eyes two limpid amber pools in her copper-complexioned face.

Synta was the first to speak. "I really tried not to," she stammered, "I tried to be a good soldier and not cry in front of you, but…but I did such a nasty job saying goodbye this morning I had to come back. Can you forgive me for crying?"

"I was hoping you _would _cry," Rez said with a laugh, realizing too late just how bad that sounded, but luckily Synta understood and she giggled through a mist of tears.

"I'll be taking the accelerated program at the Academy, so with luck it'll only be a few months before my first assignment," she said. "Maybe after I graduate I'll be drafted by your contingent, and then we'll get to see each other again."

_Unless either or both of us is shot down before that, _Rez thought, but this moment was too precious and brief for him to say something like that. "I talked to my General after she contacted you, and she seemed impressed by you, and General ell Talaan is rarely impressed by anyone," he said. "You'd be welcome to join our team, if that's where you're enlisted. Maybe I can ask Adriaan to request that you be assigned to her…but we'll see. That's still quite some time away."

"Six months, to be exact, unless I fail finals," Synta said with a wry grin. "And knowing my current experience in the art of warfare, that fate is quite conceivable."

The helmet jammed under his arm crackled, and he knew the pilot on the gunship was attempting to raise him. _Probably wondering what the blue blazings is making me take so long out here… _"Thank you for taking me on all those dates," he said. "I really enjoyed experiencing Coruscant life with you."

"So did I. I had no idea you soldier boys could be such sweethearts," Synta said with a smile. Her expression softened and fell quickly, however. "You'll keep in touch with me, won't you?"

"I have your number, and I feel somewhat responsible for your welfare. So yes, we'll keep in touch." _And hopefully Ember won't freak about that. I'll be in enough trouble as it is once I get back._

ELF Commando and aspiring soldier stood staring at each other for several awkward moments, both struggling to come up with the appropriate thing to say.

"Hey, Rez! You coming or you got a hot date to catch?" A trooper called Blaze shouted from the ship as the pilot revved its engines and prepared to lift off.

The trooper took a step away from Synta, trying to find a way to gracefully take his leave. _Shavit, I always know what to say. Should I kiss her before I go, or would that be too forward of me? Is it the boy or the girl who starts it? _"So, Synta, see you…well, I suppose you know this, but I –"

Synta stepped in. Both helmets clunked to the platform as she put her hands on his shoulders and kissed him firmly on the lips. It was the first time he had been kissed, and shocked yet pleased, the clone had no idea how to react. Her lips were chilly and wet and delicate, like snowflakes melting on his tongue, yet as he responded to her touch she warmed against his skin. Her mouth was soothingly warm yet refreshingly cold, resistant and yielding at once, and though the sensation confused him at first, it was not an unpleasant uncertainty. After a few seconds his racing heart slowed down, and his arms wrapped around her and pulled her close. His helmet was crackling and muffled shouts were issuing from the internal comlink, and several voices were hollering at him across the platform to hurry up and board, but he was deaf to their pleas, the kiss transporting him to a world of total bliss, where he hadn't a thought in the world save that he loved Synta completely and devotedly with all his heart.

Finally, they broke away, breathing hard. Rez rooted to the spot, stared in astonishment at the woman. His girl. His _cyar'ika. _By now he knew what a _cyar'ika _was; _cyar'ika _meant –

She gave a little hiccuping gasp and ducked her head as her amber eyes grayed.

"Goodbye, _cyar'ika,_" he managed to choke out before that inexplicable _something – _like adrenaline except infinitely more intense, more passionate, more lasting, more, more – overpowered his ability to speak. As he said it, his heart, though it felt it was about to shatter with the pain of their parting – oh, _shab, _it had never been hard to say goodbye to his brothers; what made it so hard now? – was glad because he knew what _cyar'ika _was, but most importantly he _meant _it.

Her eyes cleared, and for a moment a piteous half-smile firmed the quivering lines of her lips. "You never told me what _cyar'ika _meant, you know," she said. "Will you tell me now?"

Now that she had just kissed him? That's not what she said, but it's what she meant. None of this bargaining business with them; love wasn't "If you give/tell me this I'll do A, B, C, etc…" – love was selfless. He knew because his brothers loved him, Jordin loved him, Eris loved him, Adriaan loved him, and he loved them back, and he loved…yes, he loved Synta. There had been none in the training facilities on Kamino, no mothering nurturance of the womb in the cloning vats, no affection in the cold fishy faces of the Kaminoans, no tenderness on the battlefield, no devotion in the dirty cantinas of Coruscant, no passion in the Jedi – yet Rez had experienced love all the same, because Adriaan had not been afraid to attach and endear herself to him and his brothers, and they had not been afraid to feel affection for men and women who very well could end up in a coffin within the next hour. In loving one another they had exposed themselves to the most acute pain in the universe – the pain of a broken heart. Yet they allowed themselves to become vulnerable, to be weak, because…

Because somehow that weakness gave them the strength to continue.

"Maybe," he said coldly, despite the warmth of his mood and ruminations. He attempted a mocking grin and failed miserably.

"Well, then, then…_fierfek_, man, what the hell are you doing, just standing around here like a gutted Hutt? I just kissed you goodbye; that's your cue to go! Fierfek, don't you know_ anything?_" Synta demanded, her voice croaky and rasping. She was trying to be angry and ferocious, but he wasn't fooled one bit. Her stern countenance soon dropped, and she hurriedly pressed her mouth to his again, her lips trembling and frisson with emotion. Again the thrill coursed through his body, but before he could return the caress, she placed her hands on his chest and pushed him away. The time had come; he would not touch her again, smell the maddening essence of her skin and hair, perhaps never again, unless some supernatural force out there saw fit to see them through the next six months of hell. She bent down and tossed him something: his helmet. She slid hers on and immediately became a faceless woman warrior, the proud and stern soldier's girl. "If you won't tell me what _cyar'ika _means, then get the hell out of here, you fierfeked dinko, or…or I'll start bawling again!" a metallic voice choked from within the helmet.

The commando slid on his helmet hurriedly as the knot in his throat loosened and a few raindrops blurred his vision, though there wasn't a cloud in the sky. He stood rooted to the ground in an agony of indecision, knowing that he must go, though his heart would break, though he would be feeling a dull ache in his chest for months thereafter. Then, as Jordin's high little voice broke into his thoughts, he dashed forward, grabbed his armored girlfriend by the shoulder panels, and gave her the fiercest "Keldabe kiss" he could muster. Their helmets butted with a solid clank, and the masks had hardly broken contact when the soldier roughly and unceremoniously dropped Synta and sprinted after the grumbling gunship.

As he leaped on board and grabbed a handhold, he turned around and shouted, "It means, 'sweetheart'!"

Then the doors closed and the ship rose up into the clear Coruscanti sky, and left a black clad Mando figure alone on the platform.

* * *

_Poor _ori'vod, Wolf thought, watching the General tirelessly tending to Darc Chun-be, who lay strapped to a medical capsule while he drooled and babbled like an imbecile. The cultists had attacked his mental faculties mercilessly, driving him totally senseless.

"A shame," Onor said in the helmet link. The blue-armored commando stood impeccably at attention, his mask angled ever so subtly toward Darc.

"Not really," Cor grunted. "Even before his accident I wouldn't have exactly classified him as 'intelligent life'"

"Still, overall he wasn't a bad chap, for a civvie," Skipp conceded. "He was good in a scrape and had a sense of humor – those are the qualities of a good soldier."

"But he was disrespectful," Nano pointed out. "He talked back to the General and flirted shamelessly with all the women."

"It wasn't as if he was going against the regs," Ember said. "He wasn't officially part of the GAR – he was the CO of his own planet's army, so he wasn't required to conform to the GAR rules. He didn't even have to tag along after that Umbria stunt."

"I think he stayed because deep down, he really misses the life he once led," Wolf said. "He'd never admit it, but he was really unhappy as a civilian. Adriaan was his only tie to his old life. I think she realized that, and that's why she never carried out her threats to kick him off the team."

"But she hated Darc," Cor pointed out.

"I think she did, at first," Wolf admitted. "But old friendships are hard to forget."

The clones watched as the Jedi bent down and stroked Darc's wrinkled brow with anomalous gentleness. The man quit thrashing for a moment and seemed to grow still, calmed by the touch of a familiar friend. Wolf looked closely into Adriaan's face and discerned pity in her ferocious yellow-blue eyes, a softness in her lips despite the frozen expression on her face. Adriaan was more like a clone than she realized – she, too, hid her true feelings behind a cold, heartless white mask.

_And she's sick, _he realized, noting how her slender hand trembled against the caramel tints of Darc's face. Some of the luster had left her eyes and hair, the rosy bloom in her cheeks had faded to a gaunt grey. Her proud shoulders seemed stooped, as if she were carrying a heavy burden. What had happened to her?

"I think Adriaan's more squeamish than she'll ever let on," Cor said, apparently also aware of the General's depressed spirits. "She's been rather down in the dumps ever since she interrogated those prisoners."

Her illness went farther back than that, Wolf knew. Something in her past had come back to haunt her. Adriaan had not been cruel to the prisoners. What had caused her to sweat blood?

He turned to ask Vyto, but the trooper seemed to read his inclinations, for he shook his head firmly. "What she told me is confidential," he said, and everyone knew better than to convince the stubborn medic otherwise. "All you need to know is that the General has a very unpleasant past. She didn't make it quite clear to me, but either the prisoners said something or she had one of those Jedi visions that reminded her of some things she would have rather forgotten. I've never known her to be so distracted by something that she could never carry out a mission, but you'd better _hukaatir kama – _watch her back – just the same when you two go undercover, Wolf."

"I always do," he grunted in reply.

"I don't like it," Ember said for the fiftieth time. "I trust you and the General and all, Wolf, but don't you dare go taking advantage of being alone with her for a long period of time, because trust me, if you do, _I'll know._"

"Ooh, inherited some Force powers, have you?" Ammo joked.

"You don't need the Force to sense some things," Ember replied stiffly.

"Excuse me, sir," Wolf muttered, saluting and whirling on his heel abruptly. Silently, he stalked off the deck, his fists clenched to clam the lid on his seething irritation. Of course, everyone by now knew that his feelings for Adriaan went past a simple fraternal relationship, but did Ember seriously have to advertise it to everyone? It was maddeningly humiliating. Certain his face must be purplish-red with embarrassment, he kept on his helmet and simply switched off the communications headset so that he wouldn't have to listen to his brothers' chattering. They would soon figure out he had an ulterior motive for retreating to the safety of his room to compose himself.

He entered the quarters he shared with his brothers and, with a huge sigh of irritation, flung the rumpled sheets and crumpled undergarments Ammo had sloppily left on the floor. "Of course, _Ammo _is allowed to neglect the reg manuals," he fumed, surveying the way some of his brothers left their kit lying about. He swiftly removed a highly flammable container of liquid fire away from the heater and automatically checked to make sure Cor had put the safety on his deece. Cor _never _put the safety on any of his blasters, said the safety catch "Hampers my rapid-fire ability" Never mind every good soldier instinctively knew a holstered blaster without the safety catch on was just begging to shoot the wearer through the thigh and into the groin. _I'd like to see Cor walk _that _injury off, _he thought with grim satisfaction, tossing the blaster into Cor's flight bag. He checked to make sure everyone had their gear in order before finally making his way to his bed and pulling out the stacks of armor plates from underneath.

It really wasn't fair. The others were cut a lot of slack – Rez was allowed to wear his hair long and tour Coruscant with his girlfriend, Cor could get away with keeping his guns off safety, Ammo left his dirty underpants lying about for the universe to see – but the moment Wolf _hinted _that _maybe _he liked a certain young female Jedi officer, Ember was all up in arms. Why, one night Wolf had gotten up to use the refresher, only to be startled by Ember jumping upright in bed and demanding, "Just where do you think _you're _going so late at night?" It was ridiculous; Wolf had never even _admitted _that he harbored any such hopes of having a romantic relationship with _ori'vod. _What made Ember all suspicious and ultra-protective? It wasn't as if Adriaan was anyone who would encourage a romance.

Wolf couldn't help loving Adriaan, he hadn't _chosen _to fall in love with a Jedi. It had simply happened. Why couldn't Ember understand that? Wolf unstacked the black and silver armor plates, admiring the ghostly blue hand slapped across the T-mask. He had taken Rune's armor and made some adjustments so it would fit Adriaan's curvaceous, broad-shouldered frame. Kay had helped him, providing him with her Master's measurements. The clone suspected Kay approved of Wolf's feelings for the Jedi. No one else knew of the gift he had made. He was slightly nervous Ember would freak out about it – he hadn't exactly forbidden presents to _ori'vod, _but these days Wolf never knew what would scandalize his commander – but it wasn't as if he was presenting her with chocolates or flowers. It was something practical, sensible, entirely unromantic. Adriaan was going to use Rune's identity once they went undercover, anyway, so she would need the armor to uphold the image of the tough Mandalorian woman.

No, Ember certainly couldn't find anything wrong with Wolf giving Adriaan a custom-fit armor set. She had expressed the desire to get some armor, anyhow.

Wolf had spent months silently suffering, never once breathing a word of his feelings for Adriaan. He had expressed astonishing self-control, insisting on calling and treating her as his big sister, following Ember-the-mom's orders to a T, picking up after his sloppy brothers, never once complaining…in contrast, Rez hadn't spent more than a fortnight away from the squad and he had already picked up a girlfriend and gotten acquainted with the various cantinas on Triple Zero. He insisted he hadn't tasted a drop of alcohol during his entire furlough, but for some reason Wolf seriously doubted that. Rez had never been what his brother would describe as a model of temperance. Sure, Ember had blown up when he heard about it, but he hadn't gone so far as to embarrass Rez in front of the entire squad or insist he call Synta his "sister" It was entirely unfair.

But he wouldn't complain, not even to himself. Bracing himself, he collected the armor plates and stood, inhaling deeply.

"I'll show Ember who's self-controlled," he said to himself.

* * *

_He was back on Zylxx. He was Captain Enik again, no longer the darkened yet decorated Commander Kan of the Green Dragon Regiment. No longer _Unguili-draco – _Dragonclaw – the cruel compatriot of Klamin the Mirrorskin, haunted by the memories of nearly torturing Darc to death. He was still innocent and untainted as virgin snow. _Yet I am not happy. Zylxx…I hate Zylxx. The pain, the uncertainty, the humiliation, the hatred, the distrust of one's own Master – the seed was planted on Geonosis, but it lay dormant within my heart until Zylxx. _Zylxx germinated the seed of hatred._

"Kan, have you ever considered that perhaps you are fighting on the wrong side?"

Kan folded his arms. "No. I do not even need to think about my choice. I know what is right."

Kestrel shrugged. "There are several different point of views to 'right' Kan. Evil and good can be found anywhere. The Count could strike a profitable deal with you, if you would only consider…"

"The CIS made a deal with this planet; they promised friendship to Zylxx," Kan said, shaking his head. "And this is the way they repay their clients. Dealing with evil will only serve me evil, so no thanks."

"But you are already dealing with an evil," Kestrel said softly. "That evil is your Master."

My Master. Kan took a step forward. "What did you say?"

"Those questions I asked you…they were not just out of random curiosity," the strange man said. "I have had cause to believe that your Master has had affiliations with a sith cult. A dark Jedi was employed by Count Dooku several years ago, and she disappeared after betraying him. So by listening to your delirious musings, and the answers you gave me, I think perhaps this Adriaan is yet another dark Jedi who knows the one dark-Force user we've been looking for –––"

"My Master is not a dark Jedi! She serves the Jedi Order, not traitorous people like the sith!" Kan screamed, lunging toward the scientist. The anger he had first felt when his Master Ruru had died returned to him, and he felt an overwhelming desire to strike down this vile creature before him. Shouting in fury, he bore his lightsaber down at Kestrel's head.

Suddenly he felt the peculiar sensation of being blocked by an invisible obstacle. He struggled to move his arm that had frozen in mid-swing, but found he could not. Enraged, he began to fight back against the imaginary thing that was stopping him. What was holding him back?

Kestrel looked at him mockingly. "Well, are you going to get on with killing me?"

"Who are you?" Kan screamed.

The cyborg man shook his head. "If only you knew," he said softly. "You would be granted immeasurable power."

Summoning all his strength, Kan threw himself backwards and was sent sprawling on his back. But at least he was free from the strange prison.

"You are strong in the Force, Kan. It is obvious your mysterious Master taught you well," Kestrel said, stepping forward. "But she didn't teach you everything she knows!"

He held out his hands, and lightning exploded from his fingertips. Kan cried out in agony as the blue flames licked all over his body.

"Master!"

"Fool; do you think your Master can save you? She couldn't even save the one person she ever cared about. It is too bad you are following in her footsteps."

_Jordin lay upon a low couch, her face pale and grey, like day fading into dusk without the sanguine blush of sunset. Her hair spilled out around her, red-gold as the sun's blood. Her white lips were parted, a thin mist rising from her mouth, reassuring Kan that she was still alive and breathing. But her breath seemed weak; why was she so pale?_

_ She turned her head towards him, and her translucent eyelids fluttered open, exposing the passionate green fire that had long lay sleeping beneath the pale skin. The emerald irises rolled back and forth, unfocused and blinded by the light, and finally fixed with startling clarity upon Kan._

_ "I wish I could have seen you one last time," she said hoarsely. And then a slight whisper escaped from her lips, and the eyelids filmed over those great green eyes as her head fell back against the pillow, her skin the same color as the ivory sheets._

_ "No! Wait, Jordin! I thought you were all better! What happened?" As if in answer to his cries, a mist rolled back and he saw things, horrible things: soldiers storming the Jedi Temple, a cloaked figure cutting down Jedi and younglings as if they were no more than worthless droids, Adriaan hunched over the body of a dark-haired child and howling with anguish and rage, Klamin the beaten and bruised slave of a sith lord on his dark throne, his Master struggling to keep in an explosion, prevent a bomb from ticking, holding back a fire from devouring the galaxy…_

_ The detonator blew up and the fireball consumed his vision, but not before he saw Jango Fett – or wait, was that Rez? – whirl around and blast Jordin in the heart._

"Kan?"

He started, his head rearing back as his eyes met the limitless dark of space through a viewport window. He had always loved sitting at the windows of a ship and just watching the stars as the craft floated through space. He supposed the soothing starscape had lulled him into a doze. He glanced at his chrono and saw that his suspicions were correct: it was 0430 of day four hundred and eight of the clone wars.

He looked up and saw who had awoken him; Adriaan stood in the doorway, her lean frame bulked out in grim black and silver Mando armor. She had the blue-hand helmet of Rune under one arm, and her dark gold hair was braided down her back as she stared at Kan, her face shrouded in the gloaming. "Are you all right?"

"Just exhausted, I guess," he said with a feeble attempt at a grin. "Did you need me?"

"I just wanted to say goodbye. Wolf and I are leaving in about ten minutes."

Adriaan had never gone out of her way to say goodbye before. That was interesting. "Well, have fun," he said, adding the typical, "May the Force be with you."

She waved a hand, as if batting off his dismissal. "I – I have left instructions. I have sent a message to the Jedi Council, recommending you and Kay for the Jedi Trials."

Kan was surprised. He wasn't quite fifteen yet and Kay was only seventeen; the typical age for a Padawan eligible for the trials was on the right side of twenty. "Isn't it rather early to send in a recommendation?" he asked lightly.

"Better to give my blessing early than never," she said, striding forward suddenly and hiding her face by pretending to gaze at the stars.

Her words puzzled him. What did she mean by, "Never"? Surely she didn't think… "Don't say things like that," he said. "The future is not set in stone. You may return."

"But if I don't," she said, but did not continue. She rested her helmet against the ledge and cupped her chin in her hands as she leaned forward, staring intently at the Warrior constellation. Her Padawan did not push her to finish, but joined her in watching the stars in silence.

"You and Kay are to lead the brigade in my stead," she said finally. "Ember, of course, will be your marshal commander and advisor. You can trust him; he's a good man. You and Kay will look after my boys, won't you?"

"Of course," Kan said, and meant it. He didn't like the clones, but he didn't have to like them to protect them.

"The Council may not have you undergo the Trials right away, but at least the two of you will be on the wait list," she continued. "If I shouldn't return, well, I'm not that good at saying things, but…you've been a wonderful Padawan, and a loyal friend. Nothing in the universe can stop you from achieving your dreams. You'll make a great Jedi Knight someday." She spun round now, her irises as dark a velvet as the firmament cloaking the window. "Long may you defend the Republic should I never return."

Kan swallowed. She hadn't said much, but the conviction behind her taciturn speech was unmistakeable. But instead of feeling satisfied that his Master was proud of him, he was assaulted by a persistent guilt. Because deep down in his heart, he knew he didn't deserve her esteem. _Because I deliberately stood by and allowed Klamin to hurt Darc, a comrade and loyal ally. _

He also knew that no matter what evidence to the contrary Klamin brought to light, Adriaan was trustworthy. Whatever wickedness she had committed in the past, she had left in the past. She let the dead bury the dead. Whatever she had done, surely Kan could forgive her. He had to forgive her, or he would not be able to forgive himself for the evil he had done.

The desynchronization that had existed between Master and Apprentice had partly been Kan's own fault, because in his heart, he had never been able to cope with Ruru's death and accept Adriaan as his new Master. He had always looked upon her as a surrogate instructor, sort of a substitute teacher who would oversee his training until his Master would return.

But Ruru was never coming back.

"I don't deserve your praise." He heard himself say.

She laughed softly, disbelieving. "Of course you do, Kan. Why would you think such a thing? Heck, at least let me congratulate you for not being like Klamin."

The kindly meant words cut him to the heart. "I _am_ like Klamin, or worse, because I have had no reason to be turned against you," he said.

She frowned. "What are you saying?"

His throat constricted. He swallowed and nearly choked at the rawness in his esophagus. "I – er…" His voice failed him.

"I've been thinking," she began, misinterpreting his silence for bashfulness, instead of fear, "you and I haven't entirely been on the same wavelength, and it's mostly my fault. I should have realized a long time ago that being so secretive about my past would make you feel uncomfortable. And, well, since it is apparent Haak is no longer dead…" She struggled and fell silent.

_I was the one who hurt Darc. _He wanted so desperately to say those words, but instead he found his voice saying, "I think I met Haak once."

"Then you're lucky to be alive," she remarked blackly.

"It was on Zylxx. He lived in an underground science lab and called himself Kestrel. He was the one who ambushed me as I left the Pyronite encampment. He zapped me with Force lightning." He shuddered, recalling the agony he had suffered.

"It's quite possible you met him," she said. "He was infamous for being a master of disguise, but I was nearly always to see through his deception because I noticed a pattern in his aliases. He always chose some sort of bird of prey as a name; he had an obsession with those creatures, it seems."

"He told me you were a dark Jedi," he blurted. "He also insinuated that you knew how to use Force lightning."

She didn't seem concerned. "Obviously, I _do _know that Force trick," she replied dryly.

There was a pause. "_Are _you a dark Jedi?" Kan whispered.

"I admit that I have tread on that path before." She shrugged, but her eyes darkened. "But now…I am no longer sure."

"What do you mean?"

"There is a prophesy connected to the foretelling of the Chosen One, a prophesy attached to my existence," she said. "It is in harmony with the balance of light and dark, good and evil; just as there is the One who must bring balance to the Force, there must also be an Anti who will threaten discord."

"I don't understand."

"It is a long story I almost don't have the heart to burden you with," she said. Abruptly she straightened and turned away from him, away from the stars. Had she even noticed the beauty of the bright, clear constellations? "I am running out of time, so I cannot tell you more. But if I should return, I will tell you everything. I promise you."

* * *

They all saw Wolf and Adriaan off at the docking bay. Vyto, Skipp, and Fyre stood beside the hover medpod that contained Darc while Klamin stood a little way off, an aggrieved expression on his face. Kay stood with her arms folded, calling out encouraging words to the departing duo, simultaneously hollering at Andora to stop the Wicked Club from dismantling an ARC-170 parked in a repair dock. Andora scolded ineffectually at the boys while Marya flaunted her assignment orders at Klamin, who looked like he was going to explode any second. The Zabrak had been put on the Twilight contingent while the Shi'Odo had been assigned to prisoner transport and evacuating Darc to Goba Shag. Though Klamin had been secretly pleased that he was being sent to Goba Shag, where he could continue his investigation of Adriaan ell Talaan, he was furious at his Master for assigning him a mission that, in his own words, "Jahn Pal and Sai'wer could accomplish". They all suspected Adriaan had given Klamin prisoner consignment as punishment for talking back to her earlier, and it did not help the Shi'Odo at all that the younger and less experienced Marya Yon had been given the harder mission.

"Take good care of the General," Ember, who had not stopped issuing orders to Wolf since his assignment to the _Hodasol_ detachment, rapped out briskly.

"I will," Wolf replied wearily.

"And don't do anything you'll regret later," Ember said with a significant glance in Adriaan's direction. The Captain's face flushed bright red, realizing the Commander's insinuation had been picked up by everyone in the vicinity.

"Oh, I won't regret anything I do with _her_," Wolf answered with uncharacteristic slickness, and Kan winced at the barbed reply. Now it was Ember's turn to blush; he was so astonished and outraged at this remark he was rendered completely speechless and could only watch in mute fury as the black ops commando jauntily jogged up the ramp and disappeared into the cockpit of the bounty hunter's ship. A few moments later, the engines powered up and shot a blast of hot air out of the exhaust port, nearly singing the eyebrows off Ember's face. The Commander stepped back into formation with Rainbow Squad and saluted to the General as she finished her goodbyes.

She hugged her Padawans goodbye, embarrassing Andora and infuriating the Wicked Club, who hated being touched by GOODS. She clapped Klamin on the back because he wouldn't deign to return her embrace, and held Darc's hand briefly in farewell. Then the ELF Commandos clustered around her and gave her Rainbow Squad's trademark rousing rally drill. They gathered in a circle, arms over each other's shoulders, and began bellowing the Mando'a dirge Adriaan had sung at the funeral of those on the Invader team who had perished on Umbria.

_Kyr'am tracyn hettir mhi an_

_Kando be kote atin'la bah jorir._

_Cuun ka'rtase brokar solus sa mhi taabir_

_bah tal'galaar par hut'uune._

_Naasade n'ulu meg mhi'cuyir_

_Naasade n'ulu meg ven'mhi cuyir_

_Naasade n'ulu par Vode mhi ganar echoy'la _

_Par narser beh b'ash'ad vercopa_

_Kyr'am tracyn hettir mhi an_

_sa mhi tal'onidir par auretiise_

_Mhi darmav akaan'ade beh shabla Tsad Droten_

_A cuun tal'onidir cuun kartase mav!_

They all jumped apart and did some heathenish, wild dance, which consisted of head butting one another as hard as they could. Adriaan's forehead turned bluer and bluer as she went down the line, and when she made it at last to Cor, his thickskulled mug whacked her so hard she was thrown off her feet and landed with a solid _smack _with her back to the floor. Ember began to scold Cor, but the Jedi laughed and leaped up gracefully, even as a blackish goose egg began to swell on her forehead. "_Ret'urcye mhi!_" she said cheerfully, running lightly up the ramp.

The blast from the exhaust port pulled her hair loose from its braid, and the golden tresses cascaded freely down her back and were caught high in the wind, like a brave yet tattered flag. Before she melted into the interior of the ship, she twisted on her heel and cocked her hand in a salute. Her dark blond hair flew about her pale face and veiled the purple bruise on her forehead as her fingers rapped against it in farewell. Across the space, her yellow eyes met Kan's grey ones.

"We'll meet again," she called, and then she was part of the darkness within the ship. The craft roared, levitated, shot out of the dock and into the blackest blackness of space. The dark ship melted into the darkness of space; there was an explosion of light, and the shadow was gone.

"We'll meet again," she had said. But he felt a hole in his heart, a cavity that had been there ever since that day four hundred and eight days ago, when his Master Ruru had left for Geonosis and had returned to the Temple in a coffin because of Kan's own foolishness. No amount of care and love given to him could fill that gap, nothing could contain that darkness. Perhaps he and Adriaan would meet again, but for the sake of their old friendship he wished it would not be so.

Because deep down in his heart, he knew that this would be the last time they would part as friends.


End file.
